22 I Can Hear The Drums
by Ezra Cross
Summary: A 4 part epic unlike any you will ever read. The Avengers are preparing for a war they cannot win, against forces they have never faced. The Avengers lead Earth's heroes into an alliance with six other solar systems, determined to repel the coming attack by Galactus. But despite all of their strength, their salvation rests with one man, with one bow. Danger, intrigue, Loki, Whump!
1. Prologue

A/N: Enjoy this, my crowning achievement.

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"**_I can hear the drums_**

_They pound o'er my soul_

_Its crescendo singing_

_To a_

_Thrum thrum thrum_

_I can hear the drums_

_The beating, waiting, willing_

_Cannot escape or run_

_the crevice _

_low low low_

_Can you hear their song?_

_A warring, howling tune_

_In the din of night_

_an eternal_

_Pound pound pound_

_The drum beat like a heart_

_As a soul is torn apart_

_Rending in the dark_

_O'er it goes_

_on, on, on._

_I can hear them call_

_A ransom about to come_

_The leap into the_

_Empty air and_

_done, done done._

_I can hear the drums._

_I can hear the drums._

_I can hear the drums"_

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**I Can Hear The Drums**

**_Prologue: G-Day  
_**

It all happened as the Sarhorn predicted so long ago. It seemed like ages since they'd been standing in that hospital room, surrounding the dying Clint Barton, wondering how the world was all meant to end around them. But here it was. That day, seven years into the future when everything the universe knew was threatened to die in a vortex that nothing but the knowledge of Tony Stark could contain.

They'd been told. They'd been warned. Why were they still so . . . Unprepared?

Clint stood on the edge of the darkness itself on the Nova Luna surface. Here the landscape was little more than dunes of bluish sand swept over outcrops of jagged cliff spears. This desolation marked the epicenter of everything they had prepared for so long. Clint thought he had been removed from it all. The team swore that the archer would never see the heart of. The battle, the evacuations, or anything Galactus related if they could at all help it. Destiny had a way of changing those carefully laid plans.

The black hole which swallowed galaxies appeared as the Sarhorn warned, in the place he had predicted. In a single decisive blow everything the fighting force had so carefully set in place shattered. They could have never predicted the sheer power Galactus returned with. Standing on that bluff, with the gray hues of a dying sky swirling around him in dust devils, Clint could see first-hand the mistake they had all made.

"We're not going to make it." He whispered.

Behind him Natasha shook her head furiously. "I . . . I can't believe it."

Above them the glow of stars blotted out in masses, as if a fist wrapped it's hand around them and squeezed. Before it had been the distant lights, now that swirling mass of cosmic energy hovered above Nova Luna. The air became thinner as the oxygen ripped away from the surface. The people, rushing for ships like rats escaping a fire at sea, weren't going to get out fast enough. Nova Luna was never a predicted target. They never even considered the battle reaching this side of the universe. They were all wrong.

"T'Challa will be here any minute. He's getting us, Steve, everyone else off. We can't fight Galactus here, we have to leave." Natasha grabbed Clint's arm and tugged him back from the ledge. Still, though, he stood firm.

"I can't leave." He said.

Natasha squinted at him. Her voice piqued in fragility. "What do you mean, you can't leave? Clint, we are going to die if we just stand here! That thing," she pointed up into the sky at the rapidly expanding void of Galactus. "Is going to swallow this planet and everyone on it!"

Clint stopped looking up into the stars that had disappeared behind the mass of black and instead looked down into the equally repressive crevice at his feet. "I hid it there. Natasha, the Infinity Gauntlet is on Nova Luna. It's right beneath my feet. Down in that chasm. I took it from Pym. I had to take it, you don't understand what he planned to do with it." He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Natasha if Galactus gets it, If he swallows this world, that's it for us. For everyone. I have to destroy it."

A cold hand reached into her chest and clamped down on her heart. It was like déjà vu. What had T'Challa called it? The 20 predictions of the Sarhorn? As long as Clint Barton was alive he would always enter that pit of death over Steve Rogers. He would make an impossible shot, save billions, but shatter both legs in the fall and die screaming as he was ripped apart by ravaging creatures. Those beasts that should live miles below the planet surface, but now were driven up from their hot depths as if they too may be spared.

"No!" Natasha said, firm, low, and resolute. "That's not happening, Clint. We planned this. Steve is going, not you. T'Challa is coming. Steve is with him. That was the plan!"

Clint tapped the communicator around his neck and opened a line to the other teams of Avengers. His eyes never left Natasha's and he never stepped away from that ledge.

"This is Clint. Where are you, Panther?" He asked calmly.

Natasha heard her own radio cackle with the echo of his voice in her ear. There was a brief, curt reply with a word too fast to understand. Then nothing. Again the line opened. Steve's voice frantic in the background yelling indistinguishable words. The line cut out a second time and the dread in Natasha's heart filled.

"Again, this is Hawkeye calling Panther. What is your ETA?" Clint said a second time. He looped his thumb under the strap of his quiver and pulled the strap tighter against his chest. Next he took his hand, opened the palm, and felt the familiar weight of his Asgardian bow appear.

_"T'CHALLA ARE YOU CRAZY!"_ Steve's voice screamed through the radio. "_Clint! Clint, get Natasha and get the HELL OUT OF THERE!"_

Natasha's hand reached up and covered her mouth. Her pupils widened. Was this really happening?

_"She is my wife! We are going to save her! Barton can run! She cannot!"_ Panther cried.

_"T'Challa, don't be a fool! This is exactly what the Sarhorn said! Clint? Clint please, can you hear me? Don't do it! Don't go down there, Clint please listen to me!" _Steve's desperate cries tried to rise above the Panther's mania, but Clint's mind was already made up. He'd decided the day he woke up in a hospital bed and Peter Quill told him exactly what evil was to come. He'd trained Steve for as long as he could to take his place. To share this horrible fate but all the while Clint knew the truth.

"You don't understand what I have to do." Clint said, evenly and flatly, into the walkie.

_"Natasha? Natasha, if you are there, stop him! Don't let him do this! I'm coming! I'll be there in twenty minutes, please give me time. Please! Just get away! Run!"_ Steve begged.

Natasha couldn't speak. Her eyes fixed on Clint.

"Steve, the Infinity Gauntlet is down there." Barton told him plainly. "That's the shot I have to make. I might not be able to destroy it, but I can scatter the stones. I can do this. I'm meant to do it. If Galactus swallows this world up, then he wins before we've even started. Do you understand?"

On the other side of Nova Luna, Steve collapsed against the console of the transport ship. T'Challa, locked behind the pilot cabin door, refused to acknowledge the archer's words.

_"Clint…"_ Steve whispered.

"You did your best, Cap. I know that. I always knew this is how it was going to end. I'm sorry I lied to you. I lie to everyone, though. Why should you be special?" Clint reached into his quiver and extracted one of his elven arrows with Tony's concussive modification. Everything fell smoothly into place. Like bricks forming a wall. This was the very pinnacle of their achievement. The cornerstone of everything they worked so hard for.

Slumped against the cockpit door, helpless, Steve could only listen to Clint's words in his ear as T'Challa piloted them in the opposite direction. _"Clint… I'm not ready for this. Don't. Not for me."_

Clint smiled a little. "What? You're hide not worth me saving, Cap? You know that's supposed to be my line. Who knows? I might miss. Then you'll have to come down here yourself and clean up this mess,"

Natasha mouthed the words to him. Her voice flittered away like a terrified sparrow. "You never miss."

"I know I don't." Clint told her. "We gotta let the Cap think he's doing something though."

_"Hawk—"_

"Steve, I want you to open a communication line to all the other divisions. To the other Avengers. Look, we don't have a lot of time here and I don't have time for you to keep arguing a point I'm never gonna let you win. I'm tenacious like that. I just want the chance to say goodbye to everyone. My way. When I jump, cut the comms. No one needs to hear what happens next."

Natasha, who at once put distance between them, as if somehow Clint might drag her over the side with him, finally overcame that disdain and pressed into his chest. She circled her arms around his back and clasped the archer against herself. She felt the air hitch in his chest as the emotion nearly felled him. Half a world away, Steve opened the comms. Clint leaned into her, speaking into the straight red braid the elves wove her hair into. He spoke to her, to everyone, all at once.

"It's time for me to go. I wish it could happen some other way. I wish that I could stop this. We all had our parts to play. I don't blame anyone. Not Pym, Panther, or anyone else. You shouldn't either. I'm doing this because it's going to save the ones I care about. And I'm doing this because if I don't, we're all just going to die anyway. Goodbye. And Star-Lord, I made you a new mixtape. The Jackson Five sucks."

Natasha didn't want to laugh, or cry, or have any other emotion beside shock and horror, but Clint forced all those to come out in the same brief words. He took her tighter in his arms, and against her back he traced the tiny, sign language, symbols he'd designated for her name. It was an overwhelming intimacy that threatened to unmake her all at once.

Clint tore himself away. He faced the pit, said not a word more and launched himself into the air. He had seconds, if that, to spy out the location of the Infinity Gauntlet on his fall downward. It would be suspended in the air somewhere before he hit the ground. In that darkness he had a hairbreadth of time to find it, fire at it, and continue to propel downward to his inevitable doom. His legs would be broken in seconds from the fall and the concussive force from the exploding arrow thrusting him down, he had to recover from the pain quickly and pull as many arrows as he could to fend off those beasts meant to tear him to pieces.

His free fall came to a sudden, jarring, halt. Clint's body spun in mid air. He twisted, strung up by a thin, tensile force wrapped around his wrist. He threw his head back and looked up.

"Natasha, what are you doing!?" He demanded. She'd slipped a cord around his wrist during their final embrace. The noose went taught the second he pulled up the slack.

"I can't… Clint, I can't let you go. Don't ask me to do this! There has to be another way!"

With one hand Clint held onto the riser of his bow, with the other he held the elven arrow. If he released either, he might have no time to pick them up again before he passed by the Infinity Gauntlet. Already, in the darkness below him he felt the pull of that power like a magnetic energy.

"Natasha, you have to let me go. It's my time to go. You have to take your knife and cut this line. I can't do that and save us at the same time. Do you understand me?"

Two eyes, dilated in disbelief locked with his jasper shards. "I can't do that." She said, shaking her head in a desperate determination.

"You can." Clint encouraged, "You can and you will. I'm sorry, Natasha. I'm sorry we never had the life that we should have. I'm sorry for everything the Black Widow program did to you that kept you from really ever loving me. But if you ever did care about me, then do this. Cut the line and let me save you. If you live, Nat, I live, do you understand? Let me go."

Somewhere in the galaxy, Thor's hammer slowed its arc and came to a halt at his side. The army of attacking Kree warriors cascaded around him, fended off by the blaster fire from the Nova Core. Thor leaned his head to one side, listening to Clint's words as he issued his final pleas.

Pym, locked in a basement drawing room dropped his pencil. He leaned over his radio and slowly collapsed into his chair. The surrounding white boards of quantum information temporarily forgotten.

The Hulk tore through another ship, launched through the blackness, crashed into a second, then a third, tearing out pilots and releasing their bodies into the vastness of space as Clint's words fueled his rage even more.

Star-Lord slowly stepped away from his friends as they ushered more men and women into the cargo hold of the Milano. He pressed one hand against his free ear to drown out their noise and looked into the black, swelling sky. He wanted to live…but was this really their only option?

On the main deck of the _Bethlehem Star_ Tony worked frantically to reroute his energy turbine's power, defining the first through twelfth dimensional analysis in the same algorithm he'd solved only seven years ago. He needed all the energy of the forty-five arc reactors he designed into the ship. Then when the switch was flipped, he had seconds only to escape before ramming the entire flagship right down Galactus's gullet. He paused as Clint's voice arrived in his ear. Was this really the moment? He always thought he would be standing there at the archer's side, trying to stop him the way Natasha now did. But no. Tony was a full system away, throttling through the galaxy at light speed to stop the very apocalypse.

"Clint—"

"Natasha." Barton said, firm and gentle all at once. "Let me go."

She drew her knife, considered the thin line stretching from her wrist to his. She couldn't go over with him. She'd be in his way. He might even miss. He wouldn't want that. Why had she tried to stop him? Only to let this be her decision instead of his? Did she ever think she could really prevent him from taking that leap? Again they locked eyes. Around the universe, the scattered Avengers all scrambled to say something, anything, but their communication was only one way. Steve made sure of that. Maybe they'd hate him for it. For never getting their chance to say even a final word to the archer, but this was for the best. This was to save them all.

The twinkle of playfulness, of love, and camaraderie shone in Clint's dark eyes as he gazed up at her. "Good—"

Natasha sliced the line and fell behind the ledge of grey lunar dust all at once. She felt like a fool who couldn't even watch. She saw the temporary confusion, hurt, and surprise as he released from that line and his arms wind milled in open air. Even in the comms he never finished saying the word he'd begun to get out. _Goodbye_.

Down the archer fell. Impossibly fast the Infinity Gauntlet rushed up at him and Clint struggled to set his arrow back on the string. When he finally got the shot off he was firing upward at the suspended metal gauntlet. The explosion blasted out in all directions. He was blinded by the striking blue, red, orange, purple, and yellow light. His body slammed sideways against the crevice wall before rebounding again and hurling feet first into the jagged, cold rocks below. His legs shot upward into his bent over chest and all at once he felt the duel _SNAP_ of his femurs cracking in half. He screamed as the pain shot through him. His comm was still on.

Above him Natasha sunk down beside the opening of the crevice. The explosion set off a chain reaction below her. The massive boulders of the crevice walls jumped in their bedrock and slammed together like immovable slabs. Clint's only entrance, only escape, was blocked off instantly. She wanted to tear the radio off her neck but she was frozen in the shock of all she had done. The Infinity Stones fired off around her like six little comets. The time stone, space stone, aether, tesseract and all the rest warring between each other for dominance. They jumbled in a mass of energized cloud , threatening to tear each other apart. One absorbed the other and hurled it through time. A second absorbed a third and shot it through space. One by one Clint's perfectly placed explosion set off the chain reaction that destroyed the foundation of the gauntlet itself and thrust the stones across the stars again. Even as they began to scatter, Clint's screams continued to fill her ears.

He would fall forty feet. Shatter both his legs. He'd be trapped, alone in the dark as all manner of creeping monsters rose and tore him apart. He would not escape. This is where he would always die. The Avengers knew the predictions of the Sarhorn by heart, they never knew, however, that they would be forced to listen to Clint's pain-filled screams as he was ripped into pieces far beyond their reach.

Alone, seeing nothing but Clint's look of fear as he fell away from her and filled only with his screams, Natasha sank into the blue hued soil of Nova Luna and cried bitter, unforgiving tears. The life still forming within her shared the pain of its grieving mother.

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Please review! It's what i need:) if you would like to see this creative process, find me on facebook under this profile name.


	2. A History of Events

Here is a quick overview for you of all that has happened in my stories leading to this. CAUTION! THIS HAS SPOILERS (obviously) FOR MY OTHER BOOKS!

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A Chronology of Events Past:

July 3rd, 1981: Clint Barton is born in Waverly, Iowa to a loving, passive mother and drunken, abusive father. He is the youngest of two sons with an older brother named Charles "Barney" Barton. Their parents are killed in a drunk driving accident caused by their father. The boys are sent to Waverly's Children's Home, they left together, and joined the circus. It is there Clint learned to wield a bow and sword with deadly mastery.

October 15th, 1998: Clint, after barely dodging a robbery conviction, is met by Phil Coulson, his future father figure, in a bagel shop. Clint joins SHIELD with his talented skill set and begins training as an assassin. Bagel Thursday is born.

January 1st, 1999: Clint is thrown out of SHIELD's Operations Academy for insubordination and failure to follow orders. Fellow recruits, including Grant Ward, appealed to have him removed from SHIELD permanently. Phil Coulson takes him on as and becomes his Field Training Officer. They are stationed in Norway for six months.

February 19th, 2000: Clint and Bobbi Morse are put on their first mission together

March 29th, 2000: Clint and Bobbi secretly marry

May 8th, 2000: Clint's undercover persona is blown, Bobbi's life is threatened, and nearly destroyed. Clint pulls away to investigate her attackers, a Russian mob squad, privately.

February 14th, 2001: Bobbi divorces Clint for being too "distant"

July 4th, 2001: Clint is ordered to track down the "Black Widow" a Russian assassin and eliminate her as a threat.

January 1st, 2002: Clint has first showdown with the "Black Widow" Natasha Romanov

October 30th, 2002: Clint uncovers Natasha's trail a second time

December 15th, 2002: Clint is issues a kill order for Natasha Romanov

December 23rd, 2002: Clint decides to bring Natasha in, alive, and succeeds

May 19, 2003: Natasha and Clint begin their first partnership on a mission.

June 9th, 2010: Tony Stark is kidnapped by the Ten Rings

September 20, 2010: Clint Barton's team is sent in to try and locate Stark

November 10th, 2010: Clint is pulled off the case to track down Natasha Romanov, who has gone rogue with an old Black Widow comrade, Yelena Belanova.

November 15th, 2010: Clint is taken hostage by Natasha Romanov and tortured in Budapest, Hungry

December 20th, 2010: Clint's team locates Tony Stark in the desert

December 23rd, 2010: Clint vouches for Natasha Romanov before the SHIELD subcommittee, giving her a third chance

January 1st 2011: Tony Stark declares publicly that he is Iron Man

March 15th, 2011: Thor is banished to Earth for defying his father, Odin. Clint Barton is sent in as back up for Phil Coulson at the arrival of Thor's hammer, Mjolnir, in New Mexico.

March 16th, 2011: Loki appears on Earth, inhabiting the Destroyer armor and decimates a small town in his quest to murder Thor

March 17th, 2011: Clint's reassigned to the tesseract base, an Infinity stone, to track the movement of missing technology.

March 17-May 2012: Clint compiles a list of Shield personnel working for a secret underground faction known as "Blackstone" who are stealing technology from SHIELD and passing it on to unknown hands. During a brief period at this time, Clint leaves to track down the current whereabouts of Bruce Banner and logs that data.

May 8th, 2012: Loki uses the power of the Mind Stone (one of the six Infinity Stones) to control an army of men, including Clint Barton, and wreaks havoc on the Earth. He uses a Chitauri army, lent to him by the powerful Thanos, to rule Earth. He is unsuccessful. The Avengers team forms.

May 15th, 2012: After the events of his seven-day possession by Loki, Clint is looked down on by the fellow SHIELD personnel. He is sent undercover in another spy agency as an analyst in IMF to keep him distracted in the field.

June 1st, 2012: the analyst mission goes belly-up and the Russian Kremlin explodes. Tony Stark contacts Barton to offer assistance, but the help is refused. A Russian Warhead is launched toward San Francisco, but the warhead is stopped by Clint's temporary team

June 4th, 2012: Only days after returning, Clint heads into the field again on a suicide mission to Mexico to follow-up on leads from the IMF nuclear warhead detail. He is captured in the field and places a call to Tony Stark for help, which is refused.

June 13th, 2012: Clint Barton shows up on Stark's doorstep with a broken leg. Bruce Banner, Stark's fellow resident at the time, takes him into the local hospital where Barton nearly dies of a sudden blood loss caused by a nick in his femoral artery. A radical treatment is unknowingly performed on him, using an experimental drug known as the GH serum. Director of SHIELD, Nick Fury, hoped it would mellow out Clint's radical post-possession behavior.

June 16th, 2012: After assessing Barton's mental status, Director Nick Fury believes he is better off out of SHIELD's hands and placed Clint on permanent Avengers detail as Stark's babysitter. Agent Romanov accompanies him for sanity sake.

August 8th, 2012: Tony Stark and Clint Barton are involved in a plane crash off the coast of Africa while on their way to an International defense summit hosted by the USA Department of Defense. The cause of the crash was eventually credited to Yelena Belanova, a Black Widow operative and former associate of Natasha Romanov found working for an underground network of Loki supporters flying under the guise of "HYDRA". Both men form an unshakable alliance this day.

August 22nd, 2012: Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, and Thor are kidnapped by Yelena Belanova and her HYDRA faction out of a nightclub a day prior to the rescheduled DOD meeting. Clint Barton and the Hulk find a peculiar bond and team up to rescue their fellow Avengers.

October 10th, 2012: Clint Barton is dispatched to a mission in New Dehli, returning 9 days later

October 19th, 2012: the Avengers go to the mall, and Bruce Banner is tracked down by an old enemy, General Ross. Clint Barton is shot protecting the Hulk. The bond between the Hulk and Hawkeye grows into a brotherhood.

November 18th, 2012: the Avengers, finally, attend the DOD defense summit. The meeting is waylaid by Yelena Belanova and Loki himself who has somehow escaped prison on Asgard. Thor falls into the Odinsleep and Barton is left to defend his friend, alone. Clint is able to lift Mjolnir, Thor's sacred weapon, and nearly defeats Loki before he is mistakenly shot in the head by Natasha Romanov. Clint is taken to Asgard for the first time, treated by Thor's mother Frigga, receives the Sleiphner bow, an Asgardian weapon made of elven metal and dwarvish hands. Clint develops an alliance with the Asgardians. He is presumed dead on Earth.

November 19th, 2012: In her grief, Natasha Romanov hunts down Yelena Belanova alone

December 10th, 2012: Natasha allows Yelena Belanova to kidnap her in order to get closer. She is held in Budapest.

January 6th, 2013: Due to the time shift between Asgard and Earth, Clint returns to Earth after nearly two months away. Bonding the team together, they track down Natasha Romanov.

January 7th, 2013: Yelena Belanova is killed by Natasha. Natasha is then rescued by the Avengers

February 17th, 2013: Clint catches the flu and returns to Stark mansion to recover. While Stark Industries hosts a fundraiser, Stark Mansion is under attack. Clint Barton saves Pepper Pott's life.

April 12th, 2013: Due to rising tensions between teammates, Steve Rogers moves out of the Avenger's Tower to an apartment the team furnishes for him in Manhattan on 86th street.

April 18th, 2013: After being dispatched a mission in Miami, Clint is called away to aid in locating a missing Asgardian warrior, Fandral. The same Asgardian who saved him from the gunshot wound to his skull. Clint joins Thor, and finds that Jotenheim has frozen Asgard over and declared war. Clint confronts Loki, knowing somehow the trouble linked back to him. Loki reveals the location of Fandral and Clint rides Odin's wolves there with the aid of Volstagg and Gulfurn (now Veurr). In order to reclaim Fandral from his kidnapper, he grants the Enchantress Amora a single request. As the war rages on, the Avengers find a way to Asgard on their own and assist in the efforts. Clint, despite being branded as the Enchantress's slave, rises to critical acclaim in the eyes of the Asgardian army. He arranges the rescue of a trapped Odin, enlists the help of Queen Frigga to invade the seized Asgardian city, and breaks Jotenheim's hold on Asgardian's oceans. During this time he makes his first trip to Alfheimr and is introduced to queen Fehreh. Unable to find another way out, Clint must enlist the help of Loki to dispatch his bond to the Enchantress and together Barton and Loki break her.

June 15th, 2013: the Avengers return to Earth. Clint has a new friend, a dire wolf named Arrow. The offspring of Frigga and Odin's Geri and Freki.

June 18th, 2013: Natasha's and Clint's relationship grows during a private retreat to Alaska

June 25th, 2013: The Avengers are dispatched to a mission in Egypt. In the course of the mission, Clint Barton loses 80% of his hearing. In a little known policy known as "Scrub out" Clint, as a permanently maimed agent, ran the risk of being decommissioned permanently by way of a bullet to the head. Agent Grant Ward attempted to carry out the policy, but was stopped by Phil Coulson.

June 28th, 2013: The Avengers discover that Phil Coulson is most likely still alive.

July 20th, 2013: Clint undergoes neurosurgery to implant permanent hearing devices with only minimally sized external receivers

August 15th, 2013: A HYDRA agent infiltrates Stark Tower, drugs Bruce Banner, and proceeds to woo the Avenger into her confidence. Developing real feelings for Dr. Banner, Agent Morrisey eventually comes clean and reveals that the HYDRA faction Yelana Belanova worked for was not the only working industry. The Blackstone case is reopened. To investigate this forgotten team working within SHIELD, Bruce Banner asks for Clint to leave his SHIELD job. Clint agrees.

September 14th-October 2013: Clint Barton is dispatched to Libya to locate and extract a team of captured SHIELD agents. He discovers that those captured are Phil Coulson and his new team, which includes Grant Ward. During this mission, Queen Frigga is murdered at the hands of Dark Elves who have invaded Asgard.

October 15th, 2013: Clint attends Frigga's funeral.

October 21st, 2013: Clint Barton leaves SHIELD permanently to investigate the entity Blackstone with the help of his old files, given to him by Phil Coulson.

October 30th, 2013: Clint Barton and Steve Rogers are captured by Charles "Barney" Barton who has heard of the miracle cure of the GH serum which saved Clint's life once. Unable to get the location of the serum from Barton, Barney flees. Clint discovers that his old mentor, and the one who trained him with the bow is dying of lung cancer. Barney wanted to save him and failed. Clint stays by Trickshot's death bed as the old man warns Clint of Barney's deadly new skill set.

November 10th, 2013: Clint Barton leaves the Avengers to continue investigating the threat of Blackstone, its connection to HYDRA, and his brother's treachery all at once according to the Avenger's preformed plan.

November 30th, 2013: Clint enlists Peter Parker, Spider-Man's, help investigating Blackstone

March 1st, 2014: SHIELD falls days after Clint turns over his investigative reports to Dr. Nick Fury. SHIELD is infected, completely, by the HYDRA factions.

March 31st, 2014: Clint tracks through the mountains in Germany where he has traced his brother's location. Clint barely survives the encounter. Steve Roger and Tony Stark come to his aid and before he can retaliate against his brother, an unknown force throws all three Avengers through the Bifrost to Alfheimr, where he is instantly shot, and nearly killed. An uprising of twisted Southern elves who follow the ideologies of the Dark Elf Malokith attempt to rile up war between Asgard and Alfheimr which strikes fear into the unprepared, peaceful Elven hearts. Clint is rescued by the outrider Haladarrel and his kinsmen Doodle before the Alfheimr King Rinon breaks the Southling's backs. Clint is returned safely, though forever unable to wield his Asgardian bow due to his grievous injury.

April 14th, 2014: The White House explosion occurs. Clint's name is redeemed in the sight of the public, he acquires a future follower in Kate Bishop, daughter of the crooked President of the United States. Clint's brother, and the president, both die in the aftermath.

April 16th, 2014: Clint and the other Avengers leave the Tower and spend the next 7 weeks in Cabo San Lucas, New Mexico

June 7th, 2014: the Avengers take Clint's brother's ashes to Iowa to be buried. The Avengers return to Stark Tower, without SHIELD, and begin their role as a team of heroes

November 11th, 2016: The Kree attack Earth, Clint and Tony Stark are trapped on their escaping ship and crash. Tony is hanged, fractures his cervical vertebrae, and is diagnosed as a paraplegic. Bobbi Morse is killed.

December 31st, 2016: Clint and Natasha break up. Natasha begins dating Steve Rogers.

January 1st, 2016: Given Tony's grievous injury, Clint convinces Bruce Banner to enter medical school and graduate as a neuro surgeon. He agrees.

March 3rd, 2017-May 8th: 2018 Clint purchases a training center outside Princeton, NJ. He begins training Kate Bishop.

April 28th, 2020: the Mutant Registration Act goes into effect. Three months later, the mutant roundups begin.

September 4th, 2021: Tony Stark is operated on, giving him use of his body again, but no sensation on half of his body. After some time, he begins to receive feeling in the affected side's hand only. Clint meets Marie, she becomes pregnant, and they marry. Tony walks down the aisle as best man.

February 18th, 2022: Galactus comes for the first time. The planet is nearly consumed by it. Galactus retreats after a massive effort and he is followed past the 9 Realms and lost into the universe. In the after math, a new viral complex known as UIC-1 sweeps through the Nine Realms, killing millions. Clint's wife and daughter do not escape.

November 19th, 2023: Natasha and Clint rekindle their relationship…


	3. Chapter 1

A/N: In Honor of Valentines Day and my birthday, here is a gift to you:

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**Chapter 1  
**

**December 23rd, 2028**

Clint Barton tipped the ice-filled liquid of Johnny Walker black scotch and club soda against the sides of his glass, creating waves of condensation on its cool exterior. Little entered his lips since first ordering the drink, nearly half an hour before, as he'd been too enraptured with the beauty draped across the table from him. She'd wasted nothing in her wardrobe for the evening. From the fox-pelt coat, to the diamond studded heels, even her Swarovski encrusted emerald dress were all shaken out and draped on for maximum effect. If this evening was to be their last night on Earth, then they were set out to enjoy themselves in the very highlights of fashion.

One corner of her wine-colored lips crested up playfully as she leaned forward over her cooling soup. "You're not eating." Natasha said.

Truth be told, with a woman like that sitting across from him, Clint had forgotten exactly what food was. His darkening eyes, like flecks of lapis over a Caribbean ocean, glanced down briefly before lifting again to hers. "Maybe I'm not in the mood for salad."

One seductive hand set against the left side of her face. Two fingers snaked upward and tangled little rivulets in the hair hanging down. "Am I distracting you?"

"I'm thinking that it might have been better if we ate outside." Clint replied, unfolding and refolding his napkin over his lap. When Natasha set out to turn on her charm, it worked the jackhammer in his chest every time.

She cut a glance away from him to the window. Beyond the clear pane highlighted in their flickering candle, the huddled mass of New Yorkers struggled under their Christmas purchases. Winter set in like a curtain. Snow, four feet worth of it, fell in a matter of a week, and brought the entire state to a virtual standstill. Clint hoped to be home for most of it, packing what little necessities he had left in life, but traffic kept him trapped within the city limits. At least he still had a room at the Avengers Mansion to call his own.

For a while watching the hustle and bustle of holiday life distracted him from the present. The world was ready, he thought, for that which lay ahead. The Avengers had worked for the better part of the last year to spread the word of the impending doom. At first, they were met with resistance, terror. Those men and women on street corners screaming "The end is near!" finally got the fodder they so desperately searched for. In essence, they were right. Unless Earth, Terra, Midgard did something, then the life that it once knew would be snuffed out of existence like an ant lit up under a magnifying glass. The people outside now tried to make the best of what would soon be a dying world. Life had to go on. Soon, very soon, all the heroes the planet thought it could offer would be evacuated. Galactus couldn't be fought on Earthen soil, especially with his black hole arriving fourteen star systems on the other side of the universe. To save the Earth, the heroes had to leave it. They gave themselves nine months to prepare. By Friday, it was time to go.

"It'll be strange thinking we might never be back." Natasha gave a voice to his thoughts. Clint returned his attention to her.

"You will. I might not." Clint corrected sadly.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know it's not. Six years is still a long time. In space, it'll go by too fast depending on where we are. Alfheimr? We can spend months of Earth time there in only a couple weeks. Vanaheim was a good find. It'll give us at least sixty, seventy days of work every Earth hour." Clint said.

"Thor's almost finished the flagship. The dwarves have been working on it since M-day." She eased back in her cushioned, high-backed chair, one leg came up to cross the other's knee.

M-day was what they called the gathering of all of Clint's interstellar friends to his hospital bed. The day he could have died, but didn't. The Message Day. The ancient being known as The Sarhorn walked into his room that day and cured what would have surely resulted in Clint's slow death. Soon, though, the Avengers learned that the creature was not there to save the archer, but rather to deliver a message.

T'Challa compiled The Sarhorn's words to the Avenger's team, and those spent with Peter Quill afterward, into a set that he called "The Twenty Predictions of the Sarhorn". Some of those seemed to repeat on themselves if only to give him that perfect even twenty T'Challa so desperately wanted. They read:

1\. If Clint survives his cancer, he dies in seven years

2\. Clint will be thrown into a dark pit, fall 40 feet, shatter his legs, and the monsters of night come to kill him

3\. He dies painfully and alone, as each piece of him is torn away from his body until nothing that can identify him remains

4\. T'Challa will have a choice, save the woman that is his wife, or save Clint. He is blinded by his need to be with his love. He could save Clint and her, but in his fervor, he misses the chance. Therefore, he will forever be a pariah to the rest of the Avengers

5\. Pym's childlike manipulation of an Infinity Stone creates the catalyst for all the events to arise

6\. The mission is mismanaged at best, and a betrayal by his closest friend is the last sight Clint will ever see

7\. Thor will be laughing as Clint is screaming to be saved.

8\. Tony Stark's knowledge means the survival of the entire race

9\. Clint may have a good life, occasionally with happiness, some of those around will live a thousand years before they will die.

10\. A war will come to encompass every system, trillions of souls, and nearly all heroes. Friends and innocents die, planetary evacuations will be established where Clint is found.

11\. The evacuation fails, the only saving grace is a single perfect shot. Clint knows it means he will die, but he makes the sacrifice.

12\. T'Challa's wife and child, Natasha, and twenty billion souls are among those saved. Steve can't stop Clint.

13\. Clint's death will be honored as the greatest sacrifice the galaxy will ever know

14\. Steve will only save a quarter of the people that Clint can

15\. Choice drives the events. Everyone is faced with their choice again.

16\. Affected realms: Alfheimr, Asgard, Musphelheim, Xandar, Vanaheim, Jotenheim, Terra, The Dark System, the Oore System, Galaxy Red, Hyth's Star Vein, and Qivenrel

17\. Galactus' power comes from his feeding and the Infinity Gauntlet

18\. Galactus arrives in the Black Hole of Dfusth (this is located in Galaxy Red)

19\. Tony creates the way to contain him. This feeds the energy and mass he consumes into a constant loop he can't escape

20\. Star-Lord's quest: To alert the races, find the Infinity Gauntlet, and hide it! Lastly, he will guide the armada to Galactus

When Clint heard them, and that almost everyone had some horrible implication for his personal future, he wasn't sure what he should think. Like the world at large, he felt pulled into a lifeless limbo. His fate was held in the hands and choices of others. Any one of the Avengers could prevent his imminent death, but would they? That remained to be seen.

"We're talking about work again."

"Sorry." She replied. Between them, the word was a formality.

"It's all right." He shoved his salad aside, stole her soup, and dipped his spoon in to bring the long strands of mozzarella and provolone up past his facial hair. He'd been letting it grow out lately. It hid some of the more prominent scars along the creases of his mouth and Natasha seemed to like it. Or, if she didn't, she never mentioned it.

"Taste good?" she asked.

"I think we better eat something before the waiter comes and asks if we found a cockroach." Clint replied. It was good, even cold as it was. Tony had recommended the restaurant to them. Stark brought Pepper by on more than one occasion, and if he couldn't find something to complain about, then the less refined tastes of the two assassins obviously would think it the next best thing to the Ritz Carlton. Natasha, in her glitz and glam dress, with Clint in his borrowed Armani suit made some sight to see. Most recognized the pair outright as Avengers, but the staff did a decent job of handling the fanfare.

"If you want a free meal, I packed a dead mouse in my bag." Natasha replied slyly. As if to emphasize the point, she produced the silver clutch and laid it on the table between her salad and dinner forks. One auburn eyebrow arched seductively.

"That's disgusting. But with dead foxes on your coat, I would not be surprised."

"It's Kate's, I borrowed it." She explained, running her hand down the luxury. Kate Bishop was Clint's part-time protégé, and all-time pain in the neck. She'd latched onto the archer ever since he saved her and her mother's lives from a father who meant to murder them. The man just happened to also be the President of the United States. Clint facilitated their escape, and endured the grown woman's infatuation ever since.

"Kate and you wear the same size? God, she must be getting older. Every time I look at the kid I feel like she's still six."

"She's in her twenties."

"I guess time really does fly."

"You're forty-four. It should."

"Am I really that old? I lost count after Tony threw me that 'You-Are-Forty' party."

"You are. But, technically, with all that time we spent not on this planet, I say you're more like . . . Oh, I don't know, thirty-nine."

He snickered and considered flicking a cherry tomato into her hair for the jab.

Natasha reached across the table, picked up Clint's ignored salad, and began digging into the leaves herself. Years ago, they'd stopped asking to take a bite of what lay on their partner's plate. Mainly because Clint liked to be the thief, and Natasha stopped finding pleasure in stabbing him with her dinner knife.

"Should I get you something for Christmas?" Clint asked, foregoing the formality of fanning his spoon before depositing the soup in his mouth.

"Why? We're leaving the next day. Weight limits on the flagships are strict. And my bags already packed." She skewered a cherry tomato, inspected its smooth sides, and deposited it in her mouth. "Does Alfheimr have tomatoes?"

"No. And we're going to Vanaheim first. They like roots, rice, and fruit there. I'm serious though, should I get you something? It's not like I can convert my United States cash to Units, so if you want something before all my bank accounts are drained to Tony's financial broker, you better ask for it now."

Natasha considered the shape of a cucumber slice. "I thought we were going to go jack up Tony's credit cards to the max, then let them not get paid for the next six years."

That reminded him. Clint shifted in place, found the wallet, pulled it free, and rifled through the plastic to uncover the one he wanted. He dropped the black card on the table and pushed it toward her. Natasha lifted it.

"You little devil." She said, flicking the card around in her hand. "How'd you get it?"

"He left it on his shelf."

A sly look pierced him.

"On his shelf, in his room."

She waited.

"On his shelf, in his safe, in his room, behind his locked JARVIS security system, and, yes, I may have climbed a drain pipe to reach it." Clint came clean with a chuckle. His expression changed when she appeared disheartened. "What? Did you go for it and find it missing?"

She sighed. "No, I should have ordered the lobster."

He laughed a little louder, threw his arm into the air, and beckoned the nearest waiter over. "You want a lobster, then hell, we're getting lobster."

**:(:):(:):**

Clint considered the expanse of night shrouded in clouds as he leaned on the door jamb of the restaurant. Natasha decided to saunter for the restroom before they made the walk to Downtown and the Avengers Mansion. A part of him wanted to just rent a room for the night and sleep in the borrowed suit. The mansion was a cluster of movement, excitement, and packed bags. Hundreds of heroes had already found their way through the virtual Grand Central station before being transported off-world. Some went to Vanaheim or Alfheimr, others Asgard or Xandar, and the dozens of other planets threatened by the impending disaster. Getting a restful night's sleep was virtually impossible.

"Are you, Mr. Hawkeye?"

Clint turned a little, and had to look down before coming across the source of the voice. A boy, roughly twelve years old, stood bundled in no less than three sweaters and two winter hats. A few shop fronts down, his likely mother worked to rearrange her hands full of shopping bags. Assessment complete, he smiled.

"You're pretty clever, kid. I'm not even in my uniform."

"Aww, it ain't nothin'. I bet I could even spot out Iron Fist without his mask, and he's hard to find!" The kid replied, wiping his nose with one sleeve. He grinned. "Aren't you supposed to be in outer space or something? All the other superheroes are going."

The archer shrugged. "Iron Man makes a mean Christmas ham. I'm not missing out on that. Would you?"

"Dude, dinner at Iron Man's? No way! But I bet you do cool stuff like that all the time."

"Only on Tuesdays." Clint quipped. "Thursdays, we play Pong over at the Hulk's padded room."

The boy dug his toe into a drift of greying snow. In the city, it was rare to see the stuff stay white for too long. "Everyone really is leaving, huh?"

"Only for a little while."

"Six years isn't a little while."

Clint couldn't defend that. He didn't want to say the truth, that while Galactus might be appearing in six years, that didn't mean the world's heroes would be back right after. There was a huge probability that a war might break out between more races than just the fighting force and Galactus. The Kree Empire was stretching its fists as if they may want to prevent the armament of their longtime enemies. Even if the Nova Core meant to save the entire galaxy, the Kree felt more threatened than ever. War was coming, whether before Galactus came or after. Many of the men and women Terra was sending to fight knew they may never again return.

"Johnny! Hon, what have I told you about strangers! One day someone's going to walk off with you under his arm, and Spider-man's going to have to save you!" The boy's mother exclaimed, having gathered herself enough to approach the two. She smiled over at Clint, attempted to offer her hand, but failed to lift the packages circling her wrists. "Hi, I'm Beth. I'm sorry, he bothering you?"

"Not at all. And I'm Hawkeye. I wouldn't run off with him, he's too stringy." Without waiting to be asked, he slipped a few of the bags off her arms and held them at his side.

"Like the hero, Hawkeye? The White House bombing Hawkeye?" Beth exclaimed.

Clint nodded at his two notable accomplishments. Behind him, the restaurant door pushed open, as a wave of warmth chased Natasha out into the gathering snow drifts. With the same practiced air that Clint had, she assessed the situation in an instant. She wasn't surprised to see that Clint had found another random friend. He collected them like baseball cards.

"Holy cow, you're the Black Widow!" Johnny tugged his mom's arm, pointing at the star-studded woman.

Natasha, in turn, nudged Clint. "Smart kid. Hawk, I thought I said no Christmas gift. What have you been off doing?" She motioned to his bags. It was all formality. She could tell he'd taken them from the woman, perhaps to help her out.

"I couldn't help myself. You left me alone for three seconds, and I not only got ousted by a pre-teen, but I robbed his mom and was about to make my escape."

Their playful banter continued as the two Avengers fell in line with Beth and her son, escorting both to their parked car down the alleyway. It wasn't hard in the current days to walk down a street in New York without running into one hero or another. For one, New York never went more than five hours without being attacked by some evil. Secondly, over five thousand modern day heroes called the Big Apple home. Clint couldn't fall out of a random window without being rescued by four of them.

Depositing the boy and his mom at their car, Natasha and he continued toward home. She drew the lush fur up around her ears and tucked her neck into the collar. Clint leaned in, but stopped short of draping his arm around her.

"Cold?" He asked.

"It's not going to be any warmer in space."

"I don't know about that. Nova Prime's had a thing or two to say about our climate control system. And since they're from a planet with two suns, I think we might be looking at an oasis."

"Since when did you become Mr. Optimistic?"

"Oh, hey, here we are." Clint said suddenly. He took Natasha's elbow and steered her toward an inset doorway along the shopping strip. She didn't have enough time to glance at the name before he ushered her inside to the tune of a jingling doorway bell.

"Hello!" "Good evening!" "Can we help you?" A chorus of workers called the minute they caught sight of the fresh customers. Clint waved them all away at the same time, professing that they were only window shopping.

Natasha disentangled herself from the coat to get a clear look of where Clint had whisked her. She approached the nearest glass enclosed jewel case and gazed at the many diamond necklaces displayed within. "I thought we agreed no Christmas gifts. Again." She stated.

"I'm just a hopeless romantic." Clint replied, leaning his elbows on the case beside her. "And this is something small. It hardly weighs more than a few ounces at the max. And you don't even have to pack it. So, stop complaining and let me buy you something."

She turned in place and folded her arms. "What kind of a girl do you think I am, Clint? How long have we been together?"

"Off and on for almost twenty years, and I think you're the kind of girl who, even after I left the Avengers, decided to wear the arrow necklace I bought you." He replied with that annoyingly playful smile of his. "Come on, Tash, humor me."

"You think you're funny enough as it is. You don't need my help." She replied, but did decide to take a stroll down the cases with him. The odds of her finding a similar arrow necklace were virtually nil. It had broken on a mission, years ago, and she never ended up getting it fixed. The last Christmas present he bought her a cup of coffee and a plate of baked apples he'd whipped up overnight. They were in Alfheimr then, trying to find a cure for the cancer that nearly killed him. So much had happened in that year since.

He took a few strides ahead of her, pausing only to lean over a case as if inviting her to look inside also. She did, and her shoulders dropped.

"No." She said before he had a chance to open his mouth.

"Pick one." He said, smiling.

Natasha turned for the door, perhaps expecting him to let her escape, but Clint caught her by the arm and spun her back around.

"Nope. Not this time. This time we are going to face this, and you are going to say yes."

Two pursed, lips parted only long enough to utter, "No," again.

Not admitting defeat by any means, Clint leaned on the counter with his torso between her and the diabolical case of engagement rings. He'd made this same proposition twice in his past. Both occasions Natasha knew only general ideas about, but little concerning the details. It was about time he gave her the details.

"Bobbi Morse and I got married because we both thought we loved each other. And for a while we did. Some part of me still loves her and maybe it always will. When the Kree and the Shi-Ar went to war and I lost her, I didn't know what to do. She died in my arms, Nat."

Natasha smirked, unconvinced. "She divorced you on Valentine's Day."

"My fault, because I pulled away and never told her why."

"You tried to save her life, she didn't appreciate it, and she gave up." Natasha felt no prick of animosity, so it failed to enter her reply. She knew Clint cared about her. Despite all that Bobbi did to him, he was a relentless romantic. Women loved that about him.

"Then you went off and dated the enemy." Clint continued without giving any credence to her.

"I dated Steve. He's hardly the enemy, Clint."

"And I found Marie."

For a moment, Natasha's faced softened. She liked Marie Grant. The woman wasn't an Avenger, a hero, or even a mutant. She was a normal woman that Clint happened to meet during one of the self defense classes he hosted for women at his shooting range. She loved the lesson so much she came back every week, eventually learned to shoot a gun, and adopted the one-eyed dog that she named Pepper but Clint preferred to call Lucky. Natasha saw them together once, she didn't remember where Marie and Clint were walking off to, but it didn't matter. She saw enough in that one moment together to keep her from getting in the way. Marie loved Barton, and Clint loved her back, even if he refused to admit that at the time.

Coming off of Bobbi's loss and Natasha's fling with Steve, Clint found himself out in the cold and lonely. Then, unexpectedly, Marie found herself pregnant. Clint never planned to marry again. But he wanted to wrap something around her finger like she'd wrapped up him. Everyone he knew attended the ceremony. Everyone congratulated him. And Tony Stark himself both lost, and found, the wedding rings. Bruce Banner delivered their baby girl when a mission took Clint very suddenly to Galaxy Red. Marie had followed him secretly there. The second person to ever hold Clint's newborn daughter beside Bruce, was Tony. It took twenty minutes for Clint to get the girl away from him. They were happy, and for the first time in Clint's life he considered leaving his hero business behind forever.

But something went wrong. Clint left his new family in the care of the Warriors Three as he negotiated their travel through the Bifrost. It was a treacherous proposition. The first war with Galactus had left much of the neighboring galaxy and a few of the nine realms in chaos and disorder. Asgard was stretched thin attempting to offer support. Galaxy Red itself hadn't been untouched in the war. When Clint at last got his family to safety, he never imagined it was too late for them.

UIC-1 was the name the doctors gave it. Universal Influenza Complex. Millions contracted the disease, which in essence was an amalgam of viral pathogens stirred to life by the death of so many worlds. Over a quarter of those infected were killed by it. Clint's daughter fell ill first, then his wife, and lastly himself. Three weeks after Galactus fell, Bruce Banner walked into Clint's hospital room and told him that his daughter was dead. Twelve hours later, Marie lost her life also. Clint himself, just barely, survived.

Natasha knew how much Marie meant to him. She gave him a life, a real life, away from the Avengers that he thought he could never have. He was a divorcee and twice over a widower. Why would he ever want to propose a third time to someone like her?

Natasha approached the case and allowed herself the smallest look inside. She didn't care about jewelry. That sort of concept never came up, especially in her line of work. Maybe this was just something Clint felt he needed to do, like all those men and women having kids nine months after the news of the world ending hit. Experts estimated that the population of the planet increased by twenty percent globally. There were so many babies on the planet, Graco ran out of strollers to supply them.

What would a ring change in her? She'd have to introduce herself as Hawkeye's fiancé. One day, maybe, she'd be his wife. Could she be that? The happy wife to him? The support he needed? Could she stop running? Could he?

"I can't wear a ring. Women who wear rings lose them, get them caught on things, stones fall out…" She was grasping at straws, trying to discern a way why this must certainly not work for them, and she had little recourse but to refuse his proposal.

"Then you don't have to wear one. Pick one out for me. I'll wear it for both of us." Clint reasoned.

That skeptical brow rose toward her hairline again. "You'd wear a diamond ring?"

His eyes rolled. He shifted position from hovering over the women's rings to something further down the line. "No, but a men's ring I would. I need to be a little practical."

Natasha tugged along beside him, and they stood together, gazing down into the various gold, platinum, silver, and jeweled options below. The gaggle of clerk onlookers, realizing that a genuine proposal was occurring in their very midst, fanned out to cover the scene while sending a solo volunteer in for the kill. The man stood across from them, and inserted a key into the locked case, sliding the closure aside. He grinned almost privately at the darling archer, and waited for any instructions from the decision maker of the operation, Natasha.

Unsure, still, she searched Clint's face for signs of jesting. "Are we really doing this?" She asked, a small taste of fear flavoring her words.

"Natasha, there has never been anything between to keep us from running away. This might be that tie that keeps us together. Besides, we're most likely going to die when Galactus shows up, so what have we got to lose?"

That wasn't quite it, Natasha thought. There were a thousand and one reasons for Clint to refuse her. She tended to run out on him when times got tough. He needed . . . no, deserved . . . a family of his own. A family that Natasha could never give him. She'd been sterile since the day the Red Room initiative, her training corp in Russia, took her as a child and experimented on her with super soldier serum. Natasha always knew she'd be an unfit mother. But Clint Barton deserved to be a father, especially after the loss of his first and only child.

"I'm not right for this." She whispered to him.

"I am."

"And you'll be right enough for both of us?"

Clint closed in to her. "Natalia Alianova Romanova, will you pick this ring and agree to let me be your Terran, Midgardian, Earthly wedded husband?"

With eyes, a smile, and a devilish wit like that, how could she ever prevent the inevitable? "So, if I agree that you're my husband, what do you call me?"

"Whatever you like. You aren't my wife. You aren't that sort of girl to be owned, and I knew that long before we formerly met."

"We're really doing this, then. We're…. um… wow, Clint. The ballet, the fancy dinner, Tony's credit card, all because you were planning this?"

The archer smiled. "You forgot about Kate's borrowed clothes. I gave them to her for you. This suit, though, I really did borrow from Tony. I swear, he has no butt at all, you see how tight these things are on me? I think it's all those Philly Pretzels – "

Natasha leaned forward and ceased his badgering with a kiss, much to the swoon of the salesmen watching them. Decided then on this sudden feat of human nature, they poised over the rings for Natasha to pick one out. She knew Clint's style, and typical lack of it. It took only the occasional indecision for her to narrow down on the exact one.

The ring was made from titanium, overplayed in a polished black sheen as slick as silken dark chocolate. Between the rim of titanium was an inlay of corn silk gold etched in intricate, almost Celtic, designs. She knew what it would remind Clint of. The Elven language and world where he found his only true peace. If Clint could leave Earth forever and go anywhere in the galaxy, he would live on Alfheimr for the remainder of his days. It was a step above getting the "Great Ring of Power" from Lord of the Rings lore, but still retained all the beauty and masculinity of Clint's relationship with her.

Natasha could never be convinced to wear one herself. A wedding band alone was far beyond what she would ever allow. It symbolized vulnerability, something that could one day be exploited or used against her. Clint had seen that happen once with Bobbi Morse. He went through the horrifying tragedy of standing by as Marie and his baby both died. The fact that he would again be willing to let his heart be opened like this again moved her in ways she could never describe.

For Clint, though, as he watched the ring disappear to be engraved with her name beside his, a different realization passed through him. In six years and three months, Clint Barton knew he was going to die. Time ticked ever increasingly against him. If the Twenty Predictions of the Sarhorn were to be trusted, then his death would save Natasha and billions of others. That meant she would lose him. She'd be alone, lost, and unless she steeled herself against the loss now, it may threaten to crush her if he could be allowed to think so highly of himself in her eyes. Clint was also rich. He'd made a not inconsiderable fortune for himself in a heist twelve years prior, and despite giving away over half of it, losing others, repaying old debts, and acquiring new ones, he was still one of the planet's secret multibillionaires. The only one who knew the truth depth of Clint's wealth was Tony Stark, who often managed his financial portfolio since Clint could never bother himself to handle it. When Stark Industries went bankrupt after the Ultron attack, Clint's nest egg bailed the company out. Tony repayed him in spades, and managed their dual accounts ever since.

When Clint nearly lost his life to cancer, Bruce Banner convinced him to fashion up a will for himself. It seemed a logical choice seeing that he had a death sentence staring him down. At that time, he came face to face with his own wealth. He tried his best to spread it around where it would do the most good, leaving a trust that would keep his archery range up and running for the foreseeable future. But to ensure the bulk of it was taken care of appropriately, Clint had to take one extra step. Marriage. He wanted to secure Natasha's life. Give her everything she thought she couldn't deserve or attain.

"It's everything I want." He told her. Maybe she wouldn't understand everything he packed into that single statement, but that didn't matter. He was a male war bride. One of the legions of others getting hitched in the face of impending doom. He worried about history repeating itself, and he might lose everything in this Galactus war the way he had prior. But with the Sarhorn's promises in his back pocket, that concern trickled away. Clint would die so Natasha lived. In the meantime, they'd simply be happy.

When the jeweler returned with the ring in his hand, a second and third person followed him from the back office. Natasha's face lit up seeing them, and one hand traveled up to cover her mouth in surprise. "Fehreh!" She exclaimed.

Fehreh was the former Alfheimr queen, a world which belonged to the Nine Realms. She'd been a fixture of grace, support, and substantial fighting spirit in times past, and has helped the Avengers on more than a singular occasion. Beside her was one of the Light Elf aides, Faraday, that often accompanied a traveling Alfheimr native.

"I must say, keeping myself silent in that room was entirely more difficult than I gave credence to. And you have impeccable selection in refined metallurgy." Fehreh said with a coy grin. She presented the wedding band. "I have taken the liberty of inscribing it myself. Though Light Elves do not exchange these tokens, I thought you may like the touch of friendship in it."

Natasha turned on Clint after plucking the ring from Fehreh's hand. She punched the base of her fist against his chest. "How hard did you plan this?! I better not see Stark shoot out of the skylights or something, or else I'm calling this off!"

"No Tony, I swear, no one else either. Tasha, I don't want us to plan a big thing out and have everyone there, and the cake or the dress and all that, and I'm sure it's the last thing you want."

The thought hadn't actually occurred to her. She'd only been engaged for five minutes, but Clint was right. Natasha would never be caught dead in that sort of dress, unless it was for a mission and the groom was her target.

"At the same time I don't want us to have a never-ending engagement like Pepper and Tony have. That's fine for them, but I want more. So… If it's ok with you, I invited Fehreh here to – "

"To marry us?! Here?! Right now?!"

Fehreh nudged her cohort, who smiled. Apparently Clint had prepped them for the potential blowback.

"You aren't serious."

"I am serious."

"In the middle of the jewelry store?"

"Right here, right now."

"This isn't Burger King. You can't have it your way, marry me, and ask for fries or something."

"For one, that's McDonald's. Two, yes I can. And I don't want fries."

"She can't marry us!"

Fehreh shrugged. "I am an official emissary for my kingdom, and have been given all authority based therein to perform this task according to this paper here that I have since signed." The Faraday produced the copy of a New York marriage license from beneath his arm. Sure enough, Fehreh had become a duly appointed Justice of the Peace for this occasion. Fehreh herself withdrew a retractable pen, clicked the end to engage its writing end, and set it on the document. "I do love the drama of that writing implement."

Natasha, with no recourse left on the Alfheimr end, attempted one last ditch effort of squirming out of Clint's hair brain plan.

"No."

"Yes."

"Clint, no. I will shoot you in the kidney and leave you dying here, I am not doing this."

Clint smiled, picked up the pen, and signed his name to the marriage license. "Yes, you are. You are, because you want to do this. Otherwise you wouldn't be standing here discussing it at all. You want to humor me because everyone knows I am going to die, and no one wants to say it. Here is me saying it."

He pushed the paper over to her. "If you want to get out of it, then just say I forced you. I am, I admit it. You have enough witnesses to hear that. But you won't. You want to make me just as happy as I want to make you for whatever time we have left. So, in front of these friends and random store clerks, you are going to sign this paper. And then we never have to tell anyone about it."

* * *

I hope you love it! please review to tell me how you like it!

-I'm not sure when the next update will be...


	4. Chapter 2

thank you all my loyal fans for continuing to read!

* * *

**Chapter 2**

**December 25th, 2028**

A crowd, thirty-five heroes deep, blocked the entry way to Avengers Mansion with their collective mass and the presence of no less than four tons of gear to haul. They were another shipment of bodies heading for the future war front. More poured in every day, whether by request or by their own initiative. Captain America, the panel of Avengers, and other world class heroes decided early on that no draft would be instilled. Anyone willing to go would be admitted. Anyone deciding to stay, had the Earth itself to look after. The final days leading up to the seven year mark had a dark cloud hanging low on its horizon. When initial news broke of the danger to come, there was a two week run on the markets. Three economies collapsed in that aftermath, gasoline disappeared, and so did a lot of basic food essentials. It stood to reason that what lay ahead may prove much, much worse.

To handle the public panic and preserve the natural resources, the United Nations enacted the Genesis Edict, named for the famous story in that Biblical book in which Joseph similarly amassed food to protect Egypt in the wake of a seven year famine. The Edict drew in farmers from across the globe, and placed them on government commissions to provide as much food as possible for storage in the equally under-construction world food banks. Canneries amassed food by the trillions of pounds, and not a single day was wasted where something had not been added to one of the countless underground storage silos. Reed Richards elected to stay on Earth and manage the project hands-on with Pepper Potts, lending a hand to the financial reimbursement of the farmer's contributions.

Clint never had to push his way through those who loitered on the Mansion steps. Everyone knew his face, who he was, and heard the story of what he might surely do in the future. Seeing him come, the thirty five men and women pushed aside and created a path.

"Evening, Hawkeye." Rogue said, throwing him a gentle smile dripping in southern comfort.

"Heading out tonight?" He asked, surprised. He glanced at the sky and the threat of oncoming snow. The lunar ships had little trouble navigating the weather with Stark's ARC reactor managing their lift, but he never did like flying in storm clouds.

"That's right. Beast says he needs a little muscle on the other side. So they're sendin' me along." She winked.

Clint winked back. "Leave it to the lady, she gets it done. Hey, is Cap in?"

She indicated the first hallway with an extended hand, her white gloves pulled up to her elbows. "Down the hall, suga'. You meetin' us up there?"

"Not yet. Spending a last Christmas on Earth before we push on." Clint made his way inside, past the likes of Iron Fist and Iceman, who both scattered and stared at him.

She opened her mouth to say something back, but closed it soon after. Clint had already headed in and there was nothing she could do or say that might stop him. Those close enough to have heard his words offered sympathetic looks among themselves. Taking the predictions of an alien race secondhand had been a difficult swallow for a lot of people. The similar accounts, though from Tony, Steve, Pym, and so many other respected members of the scientific community resonated with the masses. If one prediction was true, couldn't they all be? If they all were, that meant the archer was a dead man walking. A sheep being led to a slaughter he couldn't avoid. A planned, predestined death that Peter Quill whole-heartedly believed they might avoid. Quill would be proved wrong.

"Heroes, right?" Iceman said, slinging his backpack over both shoulders. "'Save the cheerleader, save the world.'? Only this time, it's 'Kill the archer, save the galaxy.'"

Iron Fist sucker-punched him in the gut.

**:(:):(:):**

Clint knocked on the door post of Steve's office with his left hand, surprised at the peculiar new sound that added to his knuckle-tapping. He needed to get used to wearing the ring on his finger. It wasn't second nature yet, like something he never took off, but when he did, he felt its absence like the loss of a limb. He twirled the titanium and gold around his finger as he leaned inside.

Steve's hands shot up over a stack of metal crates all labeled in the Stark insignia. "Whoever it is, the answer is still: no. Spider-Man is not allowed to wear my cowl, and Emma Frost is not leading the West Coast Avengers."

Clint snorted and strode inside to hunt the leader down. The distribution of the crates, most likely a practical joke from Iceman,, Tony, or even Peter Parker, made the Captain's office a virtual maze. He lifted himself over one pile, crawled beneath a second, and found that actually seeing Steve eye to eye was impossible unless one of the 500lb shipments was shoved sideways about twelve more feet. Instead, he stood on the other side of it, with four feet of science tech between himself and the Captain.

"That sucks, I was really bucking for Emma." He joked.

"The last time that woman was here, she nearly set fire to a cat." Steve defended his decision. "The answer is still no. I gave Sam the job."

"Wilson? Falcon?" Clint asked, surprised.

"Yes, Falcon."

"I thought he was going with us."

"Yeah, well, so did I – " Steve paused as he shoved something massive into something else massive and created a domino effect of falling boxes. Fortunately for Clint, his 500lb blockade prevented him from being crushed. He couldn't hear the groan the Captain emitted, but his frustration was clearly palpable.

"Why'd he decide to stay then?"

"Because of Clint!"

Something else fell, and Clint took a step backward out of surprise. Apparently, the Captain didn't realize whom he was having a conversation with. This was the first time he heard of anyone deciding to stay behind because of him.

"I offered to shuffle him into another ship, but he didn't want to hear it. He wants to stay as far away from the scene as he can if the worst happens to Clint. And if Clint's not the one that jumps into a massive hole of death, then it's happening to me, and Sam doesn't want to see that either. I can't blame him, but he's one of the best pilots we've got. Logan's taking on his command post, but that takes Storm away to fly for Logan, and while that's all fine and dandy with lover-boy Wolverine – "

"It leaves our left flank exposed and still one pilot down."

This sigh, Clint could hear. "Exactly."

Clint considered the problem for a moment. Wolverine and he had become good friends over the years. They had similar personalities, though anyone could agree, the X-Man was much rougher around the edges. Recently he'd fallen for Storm, not an unlikely event. They had played cat and mouse games for years and when the romantic Elf Linnor stopped by last January, he almost took Storm away with him. Since then, Logan had been more forthright with his feelings.

After giving the lack of pilots trouble a little thought, Clint decided on a solution.. "We'll just have to train a new pilot. Or a squadron of them. Send a team to Vanaheim with the first crew of captains and make them go through a training protocol. Call up your friend in Washington and tell him to let us borrow a few of their squadron leaders to teach the new guys. The new guys will have two years of flying under their belt by next June, and you can send the squadron leaders back to Earth."

Steve stopped whatever he did on the other side of their wall. "Hey, now that's a great idea."

"You're welcome."

"Who's over there anyway?" Steve shoved the massive tote away like a piece of brick on a Tetris board, and dropped his jaw when he saw Barton.

"I'm the reason why you're down a squadron pilot." Clint said, snarkily.

Steve threw his head back. "Ah, come on, Clint. Why didn't you say it was you?!"

"I thought maybe twenty years of working together you might have figured that bit out beforehand." Clint smirked.

"That's not fair. Do you have any idea how much – "

"Crap you are dealing with that I am not? Yes, in fact, I'm getting the jist of that right now. Did you decline Stark's invite? Is that why he landed all this in your office?"

Steve looked at him. "How do you do that?'

"Magic."

"Be serious. You just walked in my door, solved a really big issue I've been having, read my mind, and now I'm in the mood to just hand this cluster of crap over to you to sort out."

"Crap? You said the C-word, Cap. That's a nickel in the swear jar."

"Clint…" Steve drew impatiently. The last thing he needed this morning was the archer's big mouth.

Clint shrugged the comment off. "Fine, I'll stop. Just, get out of that hole and come on. It's Christmas. It's time for family gift stuff, and I think this year's prank is dying all of Thor's new Hanes underwear pink. You are helping."

"Thor doesn't even know what underwear is, let alone the fact that it's to be worn underneath his suit." Steve pointed out, to which Clint slammed his lips together to prevent the escape of his laughter. Defeated, the Avenger went back to rifling through his list of priorities. "Besides, I have a literal mountain of stuff to get done. We're heading off-world in three days."

"Leave the work, you're coming to Christmas."

"Clint – "

"Cap." Barton's voice lowered just a measure. A sense of urgency and anxiety entered that single syllable word. Steve was forced to turn back to him. "Please. Last year I missed out because I was dying on Alfheimr. The year before that, Tony and Pepper were kidnapped by mutant frog men, and the year before that, no one has any memory of. Like, no one. We're living the life of a BBC Dr. Who holiday season, which . . . now reminds me . . . is on tonight and I am not missing it. Just come do Christmas."

Steve folded his arms. "Usually, I'm the one trying to convince you into this."

"I know."

"How did I end up on the other side of this conversation?"

"Blame Galactus." Clint stepped back and made a _come on_ gesture with a few fingers. He was not about to accept Steve's refusal, no matter how much the Captain protested. His opinion usually caused at least a consideration in his friends, but lately it also created action. No one wanted to deny Clint a thing that he truly asked for. Like a dead man striding a knife's edge, he navigated his way through life on a delicate, dangerous balance. The least everyone could do was offer support.

Steve took one last glance at his work before making the choice to abandon it. He pushed himself up on a few of the stacked crates and swung around to Clint's side. Maybe a little R-and-R was just what he needed to get back on track. He hadn't slept in twelve days, at least. When stress like that hit, the propensity to make mistakes elevated exponentially. He, and certainly no one else, could afford that sort of mishap. There was one thing that even his tired eyes couldn't overlook. He grabbed Clint's wrist and lifted it in front of his face, Steve saw the new black and gold ring sitting there.

"Where did this come from?" he asked.

"A friend."

"Since when did you wear rings?"

"I've worn a few."

"Married, doesn't count. Seriously, it looks like it's from Alfheimr. Did you go off world?"

"It's not from Alfheimr," Clint retracted his hand, "It's from this jewelry shop up the street. You probably know the place, on Elm?"

"I do know the place. What were you doing there?"

"I took Natasha there after dinner."

The round of twenty questions ceased temporarily as the two passed through the clutter of heroes around the door and beneath the retro-fitted Blackwing carrier. Clint pulled his jacket tighter against his body, the vortex of winter wind stirred up from beneath the ARC repulsers cut a chill through him. Steve moved to Clint's left and acted as a human shield to get them through and moving out the underside of the wing. At this time of day, they both preferred to walk toward the main roadways and hail a cab rather than take their own car to the Tower. Happy would have been more than pleased to drive them, but Clint liked to stimulate the local economy once in a while, and one way to do that was the continued use of Tony's credit card.

"Ok, so you and Natasha went to dinner, and afterward you took her to a jewelry shop where we both know she would never go of her own accord. And while you were there, you bought yourself a ring? I don't think so." Steve summed.

"She picked it out."

"Natasha Romanov picked out a ring for you to wear?" Steve said to his continued distrust. Then an idea came to him. "Did she get one too?"

"No. Just me."

A little part of the Captain that had begun to feel the pull of tension relaxed. He wasn't sure why the reaction hit him so deeply. Natasha and he were technically ancient history. After Bobbi Morse's death, the Black Widow recognized that Clint hadn't yet fully let go of the feelings he had for his ex-wife. Though the Russian had the same emotional connection of a pet rock on occasion, she felt slighted by the archer, and decided to end their on again/off again relationship. It wasn't strange for her during that time to stay at Steve's apartment in D.C., so when she left, that's where she ended up first. Eventually, they grew closer, and an attachment Steve never expected, formed. He knew in his heart of hearts that she could never love him in that same way she did Clint, but he was a fool to think his heart didn't rend the minute she went back to Barton, leaving Rogers in the lurch.

"Well, that's…I don't know what to think of that. Is this like a Tony thing? Perpetually engaged? _Are_ you two engaged now?"

"No, we're not."

Steve finally stopped walking. They'd gone little more than a block down one of the back alleys of Harlem, and all he'd gotten were cryptic answers and the evidence of what most certainly appeared to be a wedding band. Clint pulled up to a stop a couple feet away. His hands stayed in the depths of his pockets, and his head and shoulders seemed slack, but tense. Steve was about to be hit with one big wallop.

"This little walk of ours isn't about heading to Tony's is it?" Steve asked.

Clint looked up a little, considering the darkening sky as the sun disappeared into the thickening snow clouds. Any time now, and they were bound to get a white Christmas. He thought about Steve's words, and what he intended to do when they came out there, and shrugged. "I wanted a sec to tell you myself before word starts spreading around like it does."

Steve's heart froze a little.

Clint's eyes fell until the met the Captain's. "We're married. It was my idea, and she said yes. I did it because of what could happen. I don't want her not taken care of, I love her too much for that, Steve. If I die, she'll get everything that I own."

Steve took half a step forward. Of all things he expected Clint to admit to, that was the farthest from his mind. In his daze of coming to grips with what Clint tried to convey, Barton continued on.

"She's going to be alone, and she's not used to that no matter what she says. I need you to promise me you'll look out for her."

As if the first shock wasn't enough, the second hit him like a bullet in the chest, and his shield was not large enough to prevent the pain inflicted. "Wait...no, what? Clint, do you know what you're saying? You just left her four billion dollars!"

"Actually twenty-four, but I distributed it a little from there."

"You want me to _what_?"

"It's not that hard, Steve. If I die in this, I want your word you're going to watch out for her."

"You aren't going to – "

Clint approached him, removing his hands from his pockets and pressing one against Steve's chest. "Please, don't be an idiot with me. One of the two of us is going down there and not coming back. And if that person is me, I need to know that those things I really care about are going to be taken care of. I always looked up to you, Cap. You're the leader of this team, but more than that you're my friend. You spoke up first when I was laying in my death bed. You're not a father to me, or a brother, or some other family. You're more than that. You're my conscience. If you give me your word, I know you'll keep to it."

Steve continued to stare.

"Just say yes. You don't have to say anything else, but yes."

"Yes." Steve said.

Clint nodded. "Good. That's good." Without waiting for the Captain to follow, he turned back up the roadway to finish their walk down the alley. All he wanted were some ducks in a row, to make sure the people he cared about had everything they needed to live happy lives when he died. Bill, the manager of Clint's archery range, received a considerable sum from Barton's will for him and his wife to live on. Kate Bishop got his name, Hawkeye. He'd trained her night and day the last nine months to take it over when he left the planet. She was going to stay behind, defend the world, without her training wheels. There was nothing in this life Clint could do to soften the blow of his eventual death for Tony Stark. That fact alone often kept him up at night. Tony might make a downward spiral, question everything he cared about, or simply disappear. Stark might have come across as a careless, self-centered jerk to the people that didn't know him, but Clint knew the truth. They were closer than blood could ever make them.

These thoughts consumed his mind as he led the way toward the Christmas morning waiting for them. Thankfully, he'd given Steve enough to think about, and the remainder of their travel was spent in silence.

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well, i don't know about you, but that just breaks my heart.

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	5. Chapter 3

As the next few chapters are a lot of lead-ins, I am going to throw a BUNCH at you ALL AT ONCE!

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Chapter 3

The minute the elevators doors opened on the living level of Avenger's Tower, all thoughts of work were banished away. That was the rule of the house, like not going to bed angry, or forgetting to RSVP for Thanksgiving dinner. Pepper kept a tight ship with a few things in life she could have control over, and this was just one such thing.

She met the elevator the minute it arrived on the top floor, and sailed through the opening doors to lock her arms around Steve's neck. The two embraced for a moment while the Captain lifted her up and carried her swinging body out of the metal car before she slid away from him and clung to Clint instead. The archer swung the woman up in a fireman's hold and carried her over his shoulder up the hallway to the living area. Tony was already there, flipping through channels on his widescreen TV. Thor sat under the Christmas tree, staring straight up through the branches with Jane Foster beside him, their fingers intertwined. Natasha sat on one of the island bar stools, with a beer in one hand and her hair in the other. The Black Widow picked out no less than a billion little sparkles that had exploded all over her. Apparently, someone had gotten their hands on a glitter bomb.

"Looks like we missed the pranks! That was a good one, who got you?" Clint asked, allowing Pepper to slip away from him. She planted a kiss in the bristles on his face.

"Guess." Natasha said, eyeing Tony's back.

Clint headed over to the man, and clapped him on the arm appreciatively. "Good one. Did you get Thor's you-know-whats?"

"Done, wrapped, and under the tree." Tony replied. He ended his channel search on a Yule log smoldering with the background of holiday music, then set his digital remote back down.

"My work is done before it's begun." Clint replied, grinning.

"Oh, and I have an extra surprise stuck in that turkey for when the Cap carves it." Tony added, lowly.

"Did you do the baby turkey inside a mother turkey?"

A careful grin began and didn't end until Tony looked like the Grinch himself, pleased over stealing all of Whoville's Christmas. Clint prevented his own commiserating smile. Christmas ranked high on the list of favorite Avenger holidays, despite their failures the last few times around. Tony always attempted to do something, even if it ended up smaller than he liked, for Pepper's sake. After all, she'd spent her entire life as either his secretary, CEO, or fiancé. She'd had her own ups and downs that went in time with his, and more than one occasion kept her wondering whether she'd made the right choice in life sticking with him.

Concerns over their relationship status occurred mostly during the holidays, of which Tony found himself to be considerably deficient at. She'd learned, years ago, to purchase her own gifts, and expect only the most off-the-wall sort of things from his own brain cells. From giant rabbits, to giant dogs, Princess Leia costumes, and even a Tony Stark suit dedicated just for her, Tony never exactly got the hang of proper gift-giving.

Though more Avengers encompassed the current group, like Hank Pym (though technically he retired the Ant-Man name to Scott Lang years prior), T'Challa, Vision, and the newest members, Christmas was something that only a select few attended. In the beginning of their adventures, the team only had Tony, Steve, Thor, Clint, Bruce, Natasha, and their support of Pepper. Rarely were others admitted to this private party.

The morning usually began with breakfast, cooked by whoever might be available first. Others trickled in as the day came along until by eleven or twelve, Christmas began in full swing. Gifts collected under the tree, where Thor could inevitably be found watching over them. Steve, when not working some magic with bacon and turkey, was often uncharacteristically pranking the other Avengers. Clint introduced the Captain to his personal way of celebrating the holiday season. Occasionally, together, Steve and Clint would rob the other Avengers, and re-wrap the stolen goods to be opened later. Tony bothered Pepper in the kitchen, or sat on the couch and drank. Natasha lounged in any spot she could. Sometimes, Clint joined her but more often than not, he headed off to get in trouble with Steve, cook, drink, sit on the roof, or a myriad of other things. Today was no different than all those times in their past where Christmas was allowed to be a priority. Clint leaned a little on Tony, and stole the glass out of his hand. He sniffed the contents, took a sip, and scrunched his nose.

"I thought you gave this up, Tony?" Clint said in private.

Tony thought about reclaiming his glass, but declined. Instead, he turned around in place and dropped into his arm chair. Taking the cue, Clint sat beside him on the end of the sofa. The glow of the fake fire cackled to life in digital high definition and the influence of Bing Crosby's Christmas tunes.

"I added some alcohol to the eggnog. It's Christmas."

"No drinking, means no drinking. No matter what the holiday is. We talked about this."

Tony didn't nod. He hardly acknowledged the comment, but Clint knew that wasn't abnormal. With the advent of war on the horizon, both men had decided a little sobriety could do wonders for their future, as short as that future might prove to be.

"So you didn't have anything when you went out the other night with Tasha?" Tony asked.

"I didn't say that."

They exchanged a knowing look, and both of them smiled.

"We're not very good at this." Tony admitted, taking his spiked eggnog back for another sip. He didn't exactly overindulge often anymore, but the thing that made both of them nervous was his propensity to cross the line when emotions ran high. The war to come would prove difficult for all of them, and if Tony decided to crawl into a bottle every time difficulties came up, he'd turn into a liability. Neither wanted that. Clint agreed to bite the bullet and become a sober partner with him. That thought, while admirable, had yet to actually work.

"She said yes?"

Clint's head tilted a little to the left, allowing his right eye to take in the sight of Natasha perched on the island stool. His focus remained on Tony's features, trying to ascertain just what the man knew, and what he was fishing for.

"About what?" Clint attempted to deflect.

"Come on, Clint, give me a little more credit than that. You stole my card, I found it missing this morning by the way, and I tracked just what you decided to buy with it. A beautiful dress. I have to say, the way it hugged her curves from bust to butt was really a great choice. The restaurant, I picked out, if you remember. Lobster dinner. Jewelry store. If that wasn't the lead-in to a proposal, I don't know what is. And the ring on that finger points enough to it as anything else . . .and!" Tony pulled out the cell phone he had ready and waiting, then displayed the screen for Clint to look at. On it, he watched the days-old version of himself lean over a counter and sign his name to a document a few seconds before convincing Natasha to do the same. All of it was conducted under the watchful eye of a certain former Elven queen.

Clint leaned back against the couch again, and scrutinized Tony's face. "Ok, you know. Who did you tell?"

"Thus far, no one. Card."

Clint took the stolen credit card out of his wallet, and handed it back. "You know, I signed my checks with a picture of a duck, and not a single person questioned if I was you."

"That's very disturbing. You have just as much money as me, why didn't you use your own?"

"Maybe because I couldn't find _my_ cards. And maybe because Fehreh was already on this planet before I called for her to be here, and maybe because I thought you had something to do with that."

Tony's eyes narrowed. "Touche`." From his own pocket, Tony retrieved Clint's black card and returned it.

"This means we're both married men, doesn't it?" Clint asked.

"Seems like it. Best man paid for _my_ wedding." Tony took a sip of his eggnog and passed it to Clint.

Clint drank also. "Yeah, all right, I admit I would have asked you to be my best man again. Did you buy a lobster dinner too?"

"You didn't check your card statement?"

"Of course I did. How did both of us end up doing the exact same thing with our girls, Tony?"

"Hey, I went first. You copied."

Clint set the empty glass of their shared drink on the coffee table. "Technically, I went first. Twice. I mean . . . Wow, Tony, that's a big step for you. You never know, Pepper might even ask for kids now. She's younger than you."

"And be sixty when my kid goes into college? No."

"More like seventy."

"She'd enter college at fifteen."

"Undershooting that a little aren't you?"

"I don't want to pressure the wee lass." Tony pushed himself out of the arm chair, and Clint stood up beside him. They clasped hands, and then dragged themselves together for an embrace and mutual pat on the back.

"Congrats, Clint." Tony whispered.

"You're making it weird." Clint whispered back.

They released and turned to the rest of the party. Christmas this year was going just right. The world could add two more male war brides to the list of recruits since M-Day struck the populace like a coming plague. They'd keep each other's secrets, and leave the marriage announcements private for now. After all, Tony understood the reality of his wealth just as he had taught Clint. If he happened to be slaughtered in the events of the campaign, he didn't want Pepper being left in the lurch. She received everything from him on the event of his demise, and he wanted no question in that.

Within days, they were set to leave the atmosphere, and so many loved ones, behind for the considerable future. The change wouldn't be easy on anyone. Clint and Natasha agreed to be separated and increase their own chances of survival. Likewise, Clint was ordered to stay as far away as possible from any evacuation planets in the outer core of the black hole. He had a lot of rules to live by now, and though he accepted their terms without question, he knew in his heart of hearts, none of it would be good enough to save him. He'd become a true believer, like T'Challa. His fate was coming to find him, and no matter what he did, nothing they attempted could stop the chase of the grim reaper after his life.

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	6. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_Breathe._

_Inhale . . . exhale . . ._

_Open your eyes._

_Try to relax._

Clint wanted to fight the weightlessness of his body, and the pull of a 4G turn in his marrow, but he resisted. He had to let his body go, relax, and take the G-force in like a drug in his veins. It was unavoidable. The fading blue and white shrouded planet spun away from him in a kaleidoscope of dying light. Soon, she'd be out of sight, hidden like a sapphire gem in the galaxy. Hopefully, it, and all the souls on it, would be far enough away from the center of this war to prevent being dragged into it. Earth, Midgard, Terra . . . whatever her name, he prayed she might be safe. Clint, though, could only hope. The sun, stars, and planets of the Milky Way's Terran edge became a backdrop of brilliant streaks on either side of the receding planet's surface. He watched it for a time, but eventually dragged his eyes away. Others experienced more difficulty adjusting to the zero-grav slingshot around the moon than him.

Thor thoroughly enjoyed the ride on the Earth vessel, and made that readily known by hooting and hollering his approval. Beside him, Tony looked like he wanted to vomit, and . . . he did. Clint scrunched his nose, and leaned his head back to count the imaginary ceiling tiles. He had to not think about being sick, otherwise he might just be the second chain in the vomit-comet reaction. T'Challa came next, leaning out of his restraints to evacuate what remained of that morning's breakfast into the grates on the floor cleverly designed for just this happenstance. A vacuum turned on somewhere in the belly of the ship, and removed what contents appeared in the collection wells.

Clint couldn't think about that either.

The artificial gravity kicked in halfway through the slingshot, and attempted to normalize the now 20Gs of force exerting on the nose of the ship. Clint had a keen sense that his entire insides were being dragged to the left as the maneuver sent them across the axis of the miniature lunar surface, and through the dark side of its gravitational sphere. A cackle of electric current built over the nose of the ship, increasing and expanding since the moment they escaped Earth's magnetic grasp. It was the only thing that powered the portal to come.

"_12 seconds before completion."_

"Got it." Clint told the artificial navigation. He looked over his instrument panel again, running through his mind what he must press next when the sling shot finished and the floating dock appeared between them and Mars. He waited as the final effects of the artificial gravity jockeyed into place, and he felt a little lighter, though more in control of his movements than before. He hit the forward controls on his chair, leaned into the console, and switched off the auto-nav computer. The ship-board controls released from the forward panel, and clam shelled open into his hands.

"Oh, my friends! That was a greatly enjoyable trip! Shall we try it again?" Thor exclaimed, clapping.

"Maybe the next go-round, Thor. For now, we need to get this ship, and that cargo of officers, to Vanaheim." Clint replied. He pulled the controls back and into a more comfortable grip. "Natasha, engage the portal. Set it for the coordinates I'm patching to you."

"A true need, to be sure, but would it not be more enjoyable to test the mettle of these men once more?" Thor continued to defend. He leaned over and slapped a mighty hand against Tony, who nearly vomited on his lap.

"Tony, I thought you made your money from being thrown around in a tin can at Mach 12." Natasha jabbed, cutting a glance at him through the reflection of the forward view screen.

Tony couldn't reply.

"I think it's a good idea we sent Bruce through the Bifrost."

Clint nodded at her assessment. He draped his hand between them, tapped out a code key sequence into the liquid glass tablet there, and swiped his fingers across it in her direction. The code he typed appeared on the panel in front of her, and Natasha took a moment to scrutinize his work. The code matched the coordinates of Vanaheim in the portal's computer system, and she sent the numbers ahead of them.

Clint liked navigating with the interstellar version of the quinjet more than the blackbird. The latter might have sustained a better atmospheric and gravitational control settings with a considerable space increase, but the tail of that thing swung out like the hind end on a Kardashian. He preferred sportier plane models and helped design the retrofit to the quinjet himself. Meaning, he wrote all of his must-haves on a list, delivered that to the science geeks in the lab, who then sent the plans with Bruce Banner to Vanaheim, who lastly churned out the planes and had them transported back to Earth. The doctor worked tirelessly on the latest battlement plans. Establishing the portal system was an idea Bruce credited to another friend.

The Mars Portal existed in the free space between the moon and the rotating planet for which its name derived. Powered continually by the electromagnetic pulse an entering ship generated by a moon sling-shot, the portal worked on a few select code frequencies. A technology Asgard, or more specifically Loki, lent them. Being one of the sad souls trapped in Galctus' direct line of fire, the Frost Giant offspring of Laufey had agreed to be rather supportive. They knew well enough to take any of his information with heavy grains of salt, but thus far, he had yet to enact an agenda of his ownvthat they knew of.

The Mars Portal had only a few frequencies that operated it, including Xandar, Vanaheim, and Alfheimr. Asgard remained open only via the Bifrost, and Xandar held another two portals which allowed access to a separate four systems each. They hoped by placing the only current Armada in existence, the Nova Core, as the hub of all activity would prove insurance. Should some undue opponent crack the portal's code, the farthest they could travel was Xandar by default. There, the Nova Corps was more than capable of taking care of itself. The most protected of all frequencies was Vanaheim. The site of the infant Armada had to be protected at all costs. Though, in the past nine months on Earth, acquainting to a full eight years in that realm, any mortal sent there had to stay in the orbiting space station of Tierre Elley (the Great Gateway) to prevent from aging too dramatically. The last thing anyone in the galaxy needed, was for Tony Stark to spend the days until Galactus came, on the twelve-days for every one Earth day surface, and end up in his seventies before the battle ever began.

"Thor, buckle back down, we're going through." Clint called back. He readjusted their approach on the portal, shifting their horizon sideways to fit. The small size only allowed a ship the size of the blackbird to enter at its most. The interstellar quinjet was half that, but Clint didn't want to take the chance of clipping a tail strut and spinning out of control.

"Oh, must I? These restraints do oppress me so. I should much rather stand."

"We buck around in this tunnel, and you might go flying through the windshield. That might not bother you any, but it will seriously screw the rest of us. Sit down already."

"I do not intend to cause your death, and therefore I sit." Thor replied, dropping into his chair again.

Clint shared a private smile with Natasha. "Set up the pulse. Turn on the portal. Let's get this boat to Vanaheim. Tony and Panther, better hold onto your butts. This is the hard part."

:(:):(:):

Tony groaned and shifted in his seat, laying the top of his head against the back rest. Not that he preferred traveling by the Bifrost, but anything beat the portals Loki designed and scattered around like playthings. He always anticipated that, one day, they'd end up spilling into the middle of a sun or something, just to make the Frost Giant smile. He never liked anticipating that.

Another part of him knew that he was perfectly safe. After all, he was flying with Clint. The minute the thought pressed into his mind, he immediately hated himself for it. It turned his stomach like spoiled milk, and threatened to drag the bile back up his esophagus. Tony didn't believe in predictions, or fate, or magic. All those things were explainable, scientific. Maybe he couldn't comprehend every reason just yet behind them, but it was science all the same. Thinking that there was no way he could die now, this day, because Clint was sitting there beside him, split his ribs like the thrust of a dagger. He wasn't the only one to consider that notion. Some heroes requested to stay with Barton, as close to him as possible even, because they thought his death date remained fixed. Until then, he was a safe bet.

The things he'd seen under the Sarhorn's guidance made his brain implode. Stars, galaxies, whole systems shifting and moving as if invisible strings connected them. Tunnels of light and dark splashing together like a Jackson Pollack painting as they converged in a vortex. Morning and night separated like a knife split the sky in half. Waters and land rose, mixed, and separated from their skies like a dealer might split a stack of cards.

Then, the mathematical principles floated around him. He plucked whole equations out of the air with his hands, played with them, expanded them, folded them into each other and created something new and unknown. It was like experiencing a power for which he had no name. He watched entire planets crash together, explode on impact, and the probabilities of their destruction ratios thrust outward like starlight in every direction. Most of the things he'd seen have had no descriptions for. He considered, for a long while, to write all of it down. He failed to do it. Some things were better to forget.

He watched Clint pilot them expertly through the portal, and considered all those things he took for granted in the archer. Though they didn't use his skills behind the wheel of a multi-million dollar jet all the time, he was without compare an expert. His ability to navigate had room for improvement, but Natasha, or a good targeting system, took over that part for him. When it came to safely landing a crashing plane with its wings blown out and the entire cabin on fire? Tony trusted no one, not even himself, in comparison to Clint's expertise. There were other things he did too. He'd developed a business mind, whether he cared to admit that or not. He was fantastic with kids, and often preferred the company of them to actual adults. Whereas impatience and cockiness got in his way in the past, a good teacher won out, helping to develop the new Hawkeye in Kate Bishop.

She'd cried bitterly when he left, though she tried not to show it. She wanted to come. Half of all the people Clint mentored wanted to, but they were needed more on Earth than in the stars. Heroes were leaving at astounding paces, but that didn't mean the home grown terror was leaving as well. Earth had a few, very challenging, years left ahead of her. She needed the support of good men and women on the ground. Clint trusted Kate to be that hero. All she wanted was him.

In a way, Hawkeye grew up. Tony, despite himself, grew up with him. How else would he have agreed to finally put a permanent ring on Pepper Potts, one that she wouldn't just yank off once in a while so he had to fish it out from the bottom of the Atlantic? This was legal and permanent. She literally owned half of him now. That was a step that, in the past, he might have never taken. No one even forced him into it, but Tony did it all on his own. Without Clint's insatiable ability to befriend just about every woman in the galaxy, Queen Fehreh might have never come into Tony's acquaintance, and therefore wouldn't have agreed to marry Pepper and him in the same exact manner she'd done for Barton.

Their lives had altered in ways he might have never expected. Here, another twist pulled them away from home, and for what? The words of a twenty-year-old man who showed up in Clint's hospital room in a red sweatshirt and claimed to be some ancient race? Why did Tony even believe him? He'd seen aliens. Ones with powers that could boggle his mind, and make him both see and do things he couldn't explain. Why did this one have the right to alter their futures so much? Why did they even listen to him?

"We're going through. Ten seconds of crazy, everyone, hang on."

Clint's announcement through the back of the cabin brought Tony out of his introspective thoughts. He shook off those fears that plagued him more than any man, save Barton himself. Tony knew he wasn't alone. Anyone close to the archer felt the same as he did. Just as Star-Lord pointed out the day their lives were uprooted, they could change it. The heroes had to change it. At this point, they had no other choice.

The Mars Portal created a hum in the ship's cabin, like a live circuit as the energy coursing over the ship's magnetic plating leaped through the open space and clung to the portal's metal hide. The blackness of the ring's center altered, filled, and as the nose of the ship entered, a force shot them forward like a bullet from a gun. Tony's back slammed against his seat rest as the entire cabin bucked downward with the force of the throw. The tail of the ship raised, the entire mass threatening to roll end over end.

"Clint?" Tony asked. He might not be much help, but he could at least offer to do something.

"I've got it." Clint replied calmly. "Or, you know, I don't have it, and you won't care either way cause we'll all be dead in five seconds."

Tony swallowed the second influx of bile trying to escape his stomach, and tried to focus on the streaks of light grazing across the view screen. If he didn't know any more than a remedial elementary student, he would have thought Clint drove them into the center of an Aurora Borealis. The dance of light was playful, beautiful, and yet so very deadly. He knew it consisted of raw goliath particles, a form of deep space energy that only formed in these other worldly portals. Only a pixel of that light, held enough energy to fuel a whole warehouse of atomic bombs.

"Clint?" Natasha asked now. The ship's nose continued to dive, despite Clint's effort of pulling it up. They were flying head-first through space. While that normally wouldn't matter, in this case, the other metal-ringed portal was coming up fast. If he didn't straighten her out, they were bound to slam right into it and never see the other side of the war, let alone the Vanaheim skyline.

"I got it." Clint insisted. Tony believed him. Why shouldn't he? The archer wasn't currently poised on a crevice filled with horrible monsters waiting to tear his flesh apart. Stark had every reason to believe at least Clint would survive this.

"Shall I get out and give us a nudge?" Thor asked.

"And watch you get blown up and infect this ship in goliath particles? No thanks." Clint replied. He leaned forward, adjusted the drag of their wing flaps to give him a few more seconds before they slammed into the other side, and stopped fighting with the controls. In fact, he completely let them go.

Natasha would have jumped in her seat if she could, but the G-force kept her glued to down like a carnival ride. "What are you doing!" she shouted.

"Does no one believe in me?" Clint asked her with a playful grin. He kicked off the gravity drive, giving him a few brief moments of zero-grav with which to adjust a few more toggles. He kicked the joystick away from him, and the nose of the ship responded. They continued to dive, flipping forward until they were aft-first to the upcoming portal. He closed the flaps, tucked up the wings, and grab the controls back long enough to tilt the ship just barely to the left.

They emerged from the other side of the portal with the crackle of electricity rushing back into the ship. The lights and switches flickered, the normal gravity took over, and they drifted backward with their tail to the planet, and forward viewports facing the portal. Natasha leaned over and smacked his arm.

"That was not funny!" She exclaimed, breathing a sigh. "You are such a little kid, I swear."

Clint laughed. "Oh, come on, that was fun and you know it."

"I'm married to you. I did that. That was a decision I made." She continued to complain to herself, arms crossed in annoyance.

Thor was instantly out of his restraints again. "My friends! Was that not a glorious time! Clint of Barton, you and I are going to try that again, and this time we shall make a full turn! End over end!"

Clint chuckled. "Yeah, sure Thor. Next time we go to Earth, you and me."

Thor clapped him on the shoulder, which Tony could tell hurt considerably more than the smack Natasha left on him.

_No one better, _Tony thought to himself. There was no better pilot than Clint. Not when it really came down to it. Tony trusted his instincts every time.

Vanaheim, in all its rich glory, filled their view screen when Clint brought the ship around to her. A kaleidoscope of green landscape filled her middle, and spread outward like the fingers on a hand. Dots of archipelagos lined the short beached coastlines, before giving way to a massive sea the size of half the planet.

Vanaheim was a marble cleaved into aqua and emerald halves. Its populace likewise divided into separate humanoid species, and lived very different lives. Hogun, one of the Warriors Three, hailed from the rural people, while the deceased Queen Frigga, Thor's mother, came from the coastland. Hogun's clans inhabited the core of the earth, surrounded by plains and jungles, dangers and escaped from busy advanced lives. The coastlines were something entirely different. Massive city states grew like the landscape of Asgard itself. Jeweled cities were lined in platinum and gold, with streets paved in silver. Archways reflected their neighbor sea, with the lives of the coast landers tied intricately with the life-giving waters. Tony was wrong to really consider it a sea at all. There was no saltwater to be found on Vanaheim. Everything was fresh, fresh enough to drink right from the shores. Like the elves of Alfheimr, the inhabitants of Vanaheim prided themselves with closeness to their lands. Pollution was long left in its illustrious and bloody past.

The floating space station was suspended beneath the two miniature moon-like satellites, and rotated in time with the typical Earth day, considerably faster than the surface of the planet itself. They salvaged the hull of the ship from a decommissioned excavator of Xandar. The Nova Corps assisted with the initial retrofitting to get the station running, and Vanaheim's technicians and the dwarfs of Dondor from Nidavellir took over soon after. According to Bruce's latest transmission, the ship was not only operational, it was beyond what they even considered possible.

"Mainland, or_ Gateway_?" Clint asked the cabin.

"Let's get to the ship. I want to check in with Bruce. We'll send this puddle jumper down with the crew to start training the new pilots." Tony replied. He hit the center of his seatbelt and released the mechanism so he could stand. "I'll tell Cap."

"He'll probably want to go down with them and inspect what we've already got built to go." Clint said.

"Well, he can go inspect all he wants. All I care about is my containment unit, and if Pym didn't figure out the latest specs I sent him, we're going to have some words." Tony replied. He'd built a new partition into the body of the quinjet between the forward and back cabin. He figured that not every one of their passengers wanted an up-close view of the things they passed on their journey through the stars. He added the safety feature after the first quinjet took off with a passenger load of twenty mutants. The sheer panic that came over them all was to such an extended degree, the ship didn't even make it to the Mars Portal before a rescue boat had to be sent out, and the passengers bound and gagged, to make it through the other side. Some things just didn't need to be shared anymore.

He typed in the door code, and passed through a small double-hatch to reach the back cabin. Steve had already sprung loose from his own safety harness, and was trying his best to keep the crew of mortal men calm. Seeing Tony arrive as support brought a visible wave of relief to his face.

"So, did we hit enough turbulence going through that thing, or what?" Steve said, attempting to keep his voice even while he fished for information.

"Nah, Clint was just showing off."

Steve's expression of relief swiftly retreated into a mask of coming anger.

Tony went on as if he didn't notice it. "We're stopping at _Gateway_ first to get us squared away with Pym and Bruce. You can take the boys down from there if you want, but I need to stay behind. Any word on your end from Ham-Lord?"

"Not since two weeks ago when he checked in." Steve replied. "Showing off? Clint was _showing off_?"

"Well, Peter Quill's probably going to need a babysitter then, if he hasn't come up with the Gauntlet yet. We'll figure it out." Tony continued to deflect.

"Tony – "

Stark retreated to the forward cabin and slid the door shut before Steve could follow him in. His face reflected in the forward glass, displaying his grin to Clint. "I think I got you in trouble."

"What's he going to do? Ground me?" Clint shot back, laughing.

* * *

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	7. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"The Gateway has four hundred two-man crew cabins built into the lower decks, from Levels 4 through 9. Level 10 starts the scientific labs, and they continue up the bow-end from Level 10 to 13. The other half of those levels are devoted to the medical wings. We have a full diagnostic lab running in conjunction with the science lab throughout Level 10, so we can keep on top of any new disease outbreaks once Galactus hits. And, speaking of which – " Bruce pulled up to a halt in his whirlwind ship's tour of the _Gateway_ outside the Level 10 lab corridor. "We've cracked the gene sequence for UIC-1. Today marks the end of our four year clinical trials on the vaccine we generated."

Steve whistled through his teeth and folded his arms. The ship was impressive, incredibly so. He had no idea how the dwarves, Nova Corps, and Vanaheim combined managed to complete so much in only eight or so years. The structural integrity of it all seemed sound. Obviously, Bruce was satisfied, and that never came easy.

"You really made it? And it works?" Clint said, flabbergasted. He'd seen, and felt, firsthand the devastation of the original viral outbreak. It was a pain he never wanted to relive.

Bruce smiled like a father showing off a new baby. He ushered them inside to give them a tour of the work stations. "Asgard lent us additional medical minds. Ever since the first war, Xandar has been trying to break the sequence single handedly. With everyone working together, it came relatively easily. And, we were right." Bruce indicated Tony with a shake of his index finger and directed their attention to the monitors. "Tony, you thought it was a viral complex, and that was correct. I thought it was a sentient life form, and that was also correct. It's a microbe, like a bacteria, that uses a complex of viruses like a defense system. It infects the host symbiotically, but certain beings simply can't withstand its viral package, and the ones who can't, die. We had over four thousand susceptible races actually volunteer to inoculate themselves with UIC-1 after vaccination, and none of them showed symptoms."

Clint held his hand up like a school boy. Once attention turned to him, he said, "Ok, for someone that didn't just get a GED because the Princeton Neurosurgeon forced him to, can you repeat that in English?"

Bruce sighed, looking to Tony for translation.

"It means, we shoot you with a drug, you don't die." Tony simplified.

"Well, that's definitely an improvement." Clint said. "Because we all know that would be inconvenient if I died too soon."

Bruce's mouth dropped open in shock at Clint's candor, but Tony nudged him and waved a hand across his throat in a motion that meant "drop it". So, Bruce went on instead.

"Before I show you the rest of the ship, we'll vaccinate you. And don't worry, only four people turned blue after we did this."

:(:):(:):

The _Gateway _was a feat of engineering marvels; like stepping onto the deck of a real Starship Enterprise. Clint couldn't resist the giddy skip his heart did when he strode out onto that top deck and looked over the world of Vanaheim cascaded in a back drop of stars. The wall behind him was lined in clocks, twenty-three of them all together, with different times and dates and names of planets listed under each. All of their allies, keeping to the same Earth schedule placed in the very center. The bridge itself resembled the Helicarrier. Areas of open space and multiple levels allowed an unobstructed view forward where the two-story windows of the outside world hovered before them. Overhead and in-floor lighting attempted to banish away the constant coldness of space with amber and red hues. All of the consoles were brushed steel, gold, and black polished to an impossible sheen.

_What Fury would do to take this baby for a spin_, Clint thought to himself, admiring the work of it. He could see the little influences the individual races had on its completion. The architecture screamed of Xandar's precision, and the gold was definitely their touch. The sturdy black bases to the work desk, and the occasional rock ore, attested to dwarf taste, and on he could go. He had to applaud Bruce on the accomplishment.

Now that Captain Rogers had arrived, the mood of the ship changed all at once. The veritable leader of Earth's forces hit the ground running. He ushered the Air Force pilots to the planet's surface first, introducing them to all the mutants and heroes who'd signed on for training. They had six Earth months, which acquainted to nearly six Vanaheim years, in order to get their training down before the borrowed specialists would return to Earth.

"Clint?"

He turned at the sound of his name, and saw the Captain standing just behind him.

"Ready to get to it?" Steve asked. Technically, it wasn't a question.

Clint shrugged. "If you're going to be as good as me and jump into a pit of death, then yeah. I'll make a sacrificial lamb out of you. Got your stuff?"

"In the training center." Steve replied, falling into step beside the archer.

"When's the last time you practiced?"

"Yesterday morning, before we took off." Steve replied.

"For how long?"

"Two hours."

"How many center targets?"

"Four."

Clint paused before they left the bridge to stare up at the Captain. This was a strange dynamic they built. Clint the teacher, and Steve the pupil. He didn't like it. "Only four?"

"It's better than none." Steve replied with a shrug.

Clint thought of the word _hopeless_, but declined to say it. Steve was trying, he handed the guy that much. But whatever he tried, just didn't seem to work.

His chest was too big, and he liked to catch the string on it. So they adjusted.

Then he started smacking his arm with the string. They adjusted.

His aim was deplorable with anything that didn't have a barrel and a bullet, so they adjusted.

All of their adjustments made Clint want traction afterwards. He could only tolerate so much more. If Steve wanted to be as good as Hawkeye, to be better even, then he had to try harder. Maybe today was the day to hammer that reality home. This wasn't going to be pretty.

The training center was as essential to the_ Gateway_ as the medical bay or the science lab. With three hundred passengers on board already, and even more on the planet's surface, they needed a place for everyone to get focused on the task at hand. This wasn't a vacation for everyone to enjoy. War was coming, and the universe needed an armada that it currently did not have. They weren't just training for themselves, they were training soldiers.

Steve directed them to a corner of the room that he'd set up as a practice range. Clear walls rose up on four sides to give them a private space that arrows couldn't escape from. At the same time, the floor had the ability to rise and fall in boxes or towers three stories in height, creating an obstacle course littered in digital targets. Steve's specially made bow rested against one of the walls, with a quiver full of arrows. He'd had the forethought of bringing Clint's own quiver along with him.

"Didn't Bruce say something about this place being climate controlled?" Clint asked.

Steve nodded. He hiked a thumb to one of the clear walls. "Everything is digitally integrated, just touch it and the settings will come up. Why?"

Clint strode over to the wall, tapped it, and, sure enough, the screen came to life like a JARVIS tablet. He scanned along the settings until he came across "climate" and hit the sensor. A drop down menu of hellish choices appeared, of which he found a tantalizing combination and instantly set them. Half a second later, the ceiling dropped twenty gallons of water per minute in rain over them. The heat cranked up to a balmy 105 degrees fahrenheit, and the floor shifted into a three dimensional deathtrap.

"Really?" Steve said, wiping the water out of his eyes uselessly.

"No one said what world this is all happening on, so yes, really." Clint slung his quiver over his back. A faint, familiar magnetic pulse floated over his fingertips, like the caress of a soft hand. He flexed his fingers, and suddenly a black and silver bow appeared from thin air to rest comfortably in his grip. The weapon, designed by Alfheimr, commissioned by Odin, and gifted to him with a string made of an eight-legged horse's mane, the Sleiphner bow was a beautiful sight to behold. It was also Clint's most prized procession. So far, similar to Thor's hammer, no one else had the ability to wield it.

It was tough love time. Steve was an old hand at that from his days in the military. He knew what it took to break men, and now he was getting it back in spades. Clint might enjoy this, a little, but as an Avenger who looked up to Steve, he knew there were some things he never wanted to see in his leader. Weakness, was one of them.

"Here's the scenario, Cap. You have two minutes to hit every target I've laid out on the field. Every one of them. I should really tell you they better all be center shots, but I'll take anything at this point. Your two minutes starts – "

Steve scrambled to grab his bow, found an arrow, set it on his nocking point, and got ready.

"Now."

He ran. Clint stepped back with the Asgardian bow in his hands, and watched the mayhem to come. He didn't need to time it. Leaning against the wall, he watched as Captain America made leaps and bounds over the double basketball court sized area. He climbed the highest tower first, got a good lookout point, and angled his shots down like Clint trained him to do. Then he went down to look for the hidden targets. The rain made the towers and landscape slick and almost impossible to maneuver in without sliding. He hit one platform, skid forward, and fell over the smooth end. He dangled in free air, two stories straight up.

Clint glanced across the training field to see the countless others practicing were taking a keen interest on the captain's pace. Barton fussed with the controls on the wall for a while, but eventually found a way to close them in. So he did. Just as some men and women approached for a better look, the clear walls became opaque, and hid the two men from view. If Steve failed, at least no one else needed to know about it.

Steve reclaimed his grip, dropped down to the next level, and pulled arrows as fast as he could. He missed the first two, and bounded closer to get the edge of their blue rims, two colors outside of the center gold circles. Sweating, drenched, Steve threw himself across the field. Clint saw the string of his bow connect with the captain's arm two, then three times. Each one would leave a traditional archery bruise that would heal within a few hours for the super soldier. Within the first minute, Clint switched off the rain, dropped the temperature on the training field, and let a cool 10 degree wind blast the field. What rain clung to the solid metal towers froze with time. The handholds became impossible to grip. Steve picked up his pace and started firing arrows like a mad man determined to prove a point. His entire body began shaking as his clothing clung against him and stiffened.

When he had enough, Clint hit the pause button on the simulation. The boxes and towers sank back into the floor like stackable Tupperware dishes. His digital targets moved across the now flat floor and lined up in four rows of twelve targets. Steve's arrows snapped free from the targets when the floor retracted, but the digital models remained for Clint to scrutinize. While Steve approached, catching his breath, Clint turned the ambient temperature back up for the two of them to thaw out.

"I got all of them." Steve said proudly.

"You missed two." Clint corrected, indicating them.

"You said anywhere on the target." Steve replied.

"The white part on the outside isn't a target, it's reminiscent of the paper mock up. The blue ring is the furthest portion you can get. And you missed. Twice."

"I got the others."

"Did you?" Clint posed. He turned back, and looked at the clock he expanded on the wall. The timer read a very clear five minutes.

"I thought you said two minutes." Steve said, his pride dwindling a little.

"I did. I just didn't stop you when you went over. If we take out the targets you hit after I called time…" Clint hit a key, and over half the targets disappeared. "So, you got these twenty. Two of them, I said you technically missed. So that leaves eighteen. In those eighteen, two of them were actually any good, meaning that's what I would hang the survival of twenty billion lives on." Clint took the rest of the targets away, leaving two lone ones left. "I calculated how much time it takes for a man to fall forty feet. The same forty feet that's apparently far enough to break bones. That's about one and a half seconds. And I'm being generous with the half a second."

Faster than Steve could see, Clint pulled an arrow out of his quiver and set it on the string to his Asgardian bow. Steve blinked, and the archer was in front of him, arrow drawn back, muscles taught, and the razor tip faced off with the end of Steve's nose. "Six months of a few hours here and a few hours there won't turn you into me." _Here it came,_ Clint thought. _t__he tough love part. _"I spent eighteen, twenty, thirty-six hours at a time with a bow in my hand, and an arrow on my string until my fingers bled. I did that for ten years. You're good at what you do, Cap, but unless you devote yourself to this, can you really rest the weight of those lives on your shoulders? What if you lose ten of them? Or a thousand? What if you fail and everyone dies because you wanted to spare me some death. That's not the sacrifice play, Steve, and you know it."

Barton reached into his quiver, pulled a second arrow and fired both simultaneously into the opaque wall. Both ricocheted around the room until, half a second later, imbedding into the center of both targets. He never even looked at them.

"Sometimes the sacrifice isn't yours to make. Sometimes you have to let the other guy fall on the grenade." Clint said. He walked away, opened up a doorway into the wall and passed through the other side. Steve needed some time to consider what he really planned to do with his fate.

:(:):(:):

Hawkeye sat on the ledge of the forty foot metal tower, looking down at the floor beneath him. He thought about the angle of the jump, how he should fall, the way he might have to twist and shoot upward rather than fall down and shoot at the same time. He wondered what his target was, why he might make that jump, and whether or not he would run from his responsibility.

Discovering the multiple functionalities of the training room made it one of Clint's new favorite places to hide. He liked the smoky, tall walls which hid him from the view of all those others who strove to train with him. Years of being a spy didn't just turn off the moment he settled into life, though his sharper attitude had seemed to mellow. He needed to get that part of him back. The one that had died away with failed relationships and lost loves. If this was happening again, if the universe once again faced the coming destruction of a stronger Galactus, then he needed to get back to the roots of what it meant to be Hawkeye. He'd lost that part of himself in some ways. Age, years working under the harshest job conditions, took a toll on him that the mercy of an ancient race banished away. He had two functioning bow arms again, no brain tumor, his hearing, his eye sight, and lacked the death sentence of stomach cancer. He had a life left to live, and some of it was going to be very happy.

Maybe Steve resented him for that aft-end trip through the portal. Tony sure didn't appreciate his showing off, but Clint had to push some boundaries again. He wasn't a rule-follower. At least Clint Barton, spy for SHIELD, wasn't. He never had an exit strategy, flew solo, and handled the hardest missions because he knew he could face it. He needed that back again.

"Clint, I'm coming up, so don't shoot me."

Barton was never surprised to hear Tony's voice even in the places he cordoned off as private. Stark sailed up the metal telescoped tower and landed at Clint's back. He took a few strides forward, and sat beside him with the metal legs of his Iron Man suit swinging over the ledge.

"Planning to jump?"

"Already did eighty times. Where were you?"

"Checking the containment mathematics, and watching some sad video footage of Cap getting his butt handed to him by you. If you wanted to make a point, you could have just shot him in the leg and told him no."

Clint smirked and shrugged. "You saw it?"

"No one else did, but yeah I hacked in." Tony leaned forward and looked down at the inflatable catcher below them. He could see the indent of Clint's body smacking into the dead center, and a little groove where the archer must have scrambled off the wide side of it and re-climbed the tower for another jump. "High enough?"

"According to the computer, it is. I land on my back every time." Clint told him, looking down. "That's how I jump. I jump out, twist, fire straight up. Like that time in New York with the Chitauri. I never land feet first. I'm not sure how I end up breaking my legs."

"Maybe you don't jump. Maybe you fall." Tony supplied.

Clint had considered that already. He'd have to be dangling by his hands over the open space and drop straight down. He wouldn't have the chance to turn in place and hit his back.

"Are you saying this is going to be like that scene from the Lion King. Tony, am I really Mufasa?" Clint joked.

Tony shoved him, nearly right off the tower. "Stop that! If you are, then I'm Simba, and that makes T'Challa Scar, so . . . no. Just no."

Clint chuckled.

"He's not going to be ready, is he?" Tony asked, turning the joviality back to the heart of the matter.

"He'll never be ready." Clint said flatly. He turned to see how the news might hit. Tony lifted the faceplate on his helmet to face him.

"He goes down to Vanaheim for a while, he'll have the time."

"I'd need to go with him. By the time we leave, I'll be in my eighties."

"He could go at it alone."

"He's distracted, busy, and leading an armada we don't yet have off the ground."

These were words Tony knew but never voiced. He didn't want to face that reality, and his endless enthusiasm for altering the fate of the worlds mirrored only Star-Lord and Steve Rogers. Most had already consigned to the fact that Barton would be dead in almost six years, even the archer himself. Tony decided to leave the argument for now.

"Alfheimr sent an emissary with support for the dwarves." He said.

Clint expected the conversation shift. "Who did they send?"

"Pointy."

"Haladarrel? He came himself?" Clint asked, surprised.

"He brought some special metal from some dying-something to make something else that only elves can deal with. Yeah."

Clint thought about his bow and the metal the elves collected to form it. The Blue Mountains of Alfheimr had a considerable trove of such precious commodities, but sharing them happened only rarely. In the previous universe wars, Alfheimr was always left to its peace. They occasionally lent support, but the private elven race, for the most part, didn't travel far beyond its corner of the Nine Realms System. Since the announcement of Galactus, the borders of that secret realm opened for the first time, and the inhabitants poured out support for the infant warships in production. The Nova Corps, Asgardians, and many others teamed to create the now four-hundred ship strong armada established on the Vanaheim surface.

Haladarrel himself was the king of the Elven realm. He succeeded another, Rinon, who held the title a mere six hundred years with Queen Fehreh. Very suddenly, they announced their decision to pass the throne to another. The Avengers met Rinon on various occasions throughout their history, and Haladarrel was an outrider for him, or a scout. Elves very rarely had children, due to the nature of their long lives and the very small window for which they might accomplish such a thing, so the regency was often passed to a close supporter of the current king. Haladarrel proved his worth once when an uprising of evil Elves, called Southlings, came and attempted to uproot the entire Alfheimr society. His actions saved his people then. It came as a shock when King Rinon let go of his throne so quickly, but none doubted the right for Haladarrel to lead. With a new wife stood at his side, and, as a pair, they ushered the realm into a new age. Elven tradition remained intact. This personal visit was something of a nuance.

"He didn't send Reylano? Or Linnor?" Clint asked, surprised. Both were well known as right hands to the king.

"Rey's still back in Alf world. Lover-boy came with his brother, who assured Steve that Linnor's not going to make a play for every woman Vanaheim has to offer."

Clint snorted. He'd believe a lie like that when he saw it. Linnor was a notorious flirt, and any elf who planned to keep him bridled would only meet with his own despair. Linnor did have a keen respect for his brother, Faraday, however. Most elves were single children. To have such a family bond held a great deal of rarity. "For all of our sakes, I hope he succeeds."

"You going down to meet him?" Tony asked.

"Haladarrel? He isn't coming here?"

"Not for a few days, at least. He brought over a thousand elves with him to help with the construction. He wants to make sure everyone is settled in before seeing the _Gateway_. At least the pointy-ears can reach things on tall shelves."

"Dwarves aren't short, and you know that." Clint said.

"They're shorter than me."

"The one you met just happened to be a midget."

"Which validated everything I ever thought of dwarves before this all started."

"They should really be called Earth Giants. They're bigger than Thor, for crying out loud."

"I think they'd object to the term "Earth". They prefer the term 'Waterblubber' I think."

Clint turned to him. "That isn't even remotely close to Liqui-Terra."

"Loose translation."

Figuring he had enough of the back and forth with the likes of Tony Stark, Clint shoved the Iron Man suit sideways and off the edge of the tower. The satisfying yelp from Stark as he fell brought a smile to his lips, right before the suit's repulsers kicked in and he stopped himself before hitting the ground. Clint stood, pulled out his bow, set an arrow on his string and stepped of the ledge. He fell straight down, feet first, head facing skyward with the arrow pulled back. He fired at the digital target in the ceiling above him, and heard the satisfying SMACK as it hit gold, right before his legs collapsed into the inflatable cushion waiting for him instead of the cold metal floor.

* * *

Please review:)


	8. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The wall of clocks counted down soundlessly, in rhythm with one another, as the day until Galactus came cycled closer and closer. Even now, in the dark cold of space, Clint watched it all go by. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, cycling without anyway of stopping it.

The backdrop of stars and the surface of Vanaheim crested over windows. It seemed so full, out there now. Before, he could look into the sky and think only of the emptiness, but the events of his life changed that perspective immensely. Since the day Loki stepped through that first Tesseract portal . . . no, he had to go back further to Thor.

Thor, was his first real interaction with an alien race. Clint had seen what Asgardian strength could do to a human man, back when that powerless son of Odin fought his way to Mjolnir, the hammer weapon who had abandoned him. Clint watched the happenings from afar. Clint knew then the last thing he wanted to do was step into the firing line of a man with that kind of power. But now, look at him. He'd taken that exact step more times than he could count.

Space wasn't just full, it was teeming and bursting with life his brain had no ability to quantify. Endless stretches of darkness, leading to people living their lives with no idea of what might soon destroy it. He'd seen into the Nine Realms at Heimdall's side, and the effect was intoxicating. Part of him wished he'd gone to Asgard instead of Vanaheim, if only to avoid sitting in the bridge, staring at his time as it wound inevitably down.

"Someone else seeking respite of all that is to come? And here I wished to drink alone."

Clint had been sitting on the floor against the edge of the glass-fronted bubble that comprised the forward bridge. He grabbed one of the support struts, and lifted up to see the owner of the voice he knew only too well.

"Can't a guy get a moment's peace on this bucket?" Clint asked. He sat back down.

"I was considering the same notion myself when I came here, knowing that the crew had all gone below deck for that …oh, what did he call it? A World Council? How tantalizing. No one invited me." Loki rounded the upper deck, and took a few purposeful strides forward. He stopped at the end of the catwalk. Rotating only his upper half, he cast a glance along Clint's line of sight to the various time tables, then back at the archer. "Contemplating the remainder of your days?"

"I was, until you interrupted me. Now I think my focus shifted a little to you. How's the shoulder?"

"Healed, since you put an arrow through it."

"I wish it was your eye."

"So you often remind me."

"Someone let you off Asgard? And your leash?"

"It may surprise you to hear that I rather enjoy life, and am not in a hurry to yet end it." Loki stepped down from the catwalk and approached the wide glass Clint leaned against. He was impeccably dressed as always. A long green coat trimmed in black covered the length of him to just above below his knees. Beneath it, a black vest etched in gold designs covered his silken shirt. Even his trousers had all the show of being sewn onto him by some expert's hand.

"You look like a Musketeer." Clint remarked.

"And you resemble homeless filth." Loki replied. "I can speak harsh words too, if I wish it."

"One of these days I'll finally be rid of you."

"I believe it is the other way around, seeing as my life expectancy lasts much longer than the fleeting years you have left." He moved away from the windows into the stars, and stood in front of Clint, the view to the countdowns blocked.

"Tell me what it is like to face your own demise."

Clint scoffed. "I should ask you that. You've been in my shoes more often than I have."

Loki's expression changed faintly. He was curious. "You are mistaken. When one threatens to tear out my throat and leave the rest of me for the bilge rats, I know very likely they will not succeed."

"Someone once told me being that cocky gets you killed."

"Not when it is a fact." Unexpectedly, Loki stooped over him.

He grabbed a fistful of Clint's hair and dragged the archer away from the wall. Barton struggled, slammed his palm against Loki's forearm and forced the Frost Giant to let go. But Loki came at him again. He fell across Barton, his knife flicked out from some hidden pocket, and went for Clint's throat.

Clint grabbed his hand before the dagger sank home, and forced the hand away. He brought up his knee between Loki's legs and threw him to the side. Loki recovered, grabbed the retreating Barton's ankle, and slammed the human sideways into the elevated catwalk platform. The air rushed out of Clint. Loki snatched him, this time by the shoulders, pulled Barton up, and threw him against the catwalk edge. Clint's back cracked under the abuse, though it failed to actually break. The dagger came down. It cleaved a hairline cut across his throat from left to right before pausing in the middle. He considered calling his bow to his hands, and cracking Loki upside his head with it.

"If I killed you this moment, what might happen then?" Loki questioned, hovering the dagger's point against him. "Everyone puts so much faith in these words of some race that doesn't bother to do something about this destruction to come, and all of it hangs on you. So what if I just end it now." The dagger pressed forward half an inch. Clint felt the trickle of his blood run down his shirt.

"Days, weeks, months; they are blinks to a being like I. So what if Galactus comes and destroys everything and everyone? Those who are left behind will be easier to manage than the many. Some would call this armament of Midgard, Vanaheim, and Xandar an act of war. What if you were not around to see this to its end?"

"Be one Hell of a monkey wrench. You love mixing things up. So what of it? You kill me, Cap takes my place. Kill him, then I'll bet someone else tries it. Who's to say anything's even going to happen? Maybe Star-Lord found that Infinity Gauntlet already, and this is all useless."

Loki considered it. "For agreeing to this partnership, I have requested to stay as far away from this nonsense as possible. You lowlifes may make your ships and weapons and face a world eater, but I will not."

"I never wanted you to play in the same sandbox as me, anyway." Clint said honestly.

"In the meantime . . ." Loki retracted his dagger and leaned back. "I am not leaving your side."

Clint raised his eyebrow. This was something he never expected. "Excuse me?!"

"If this all happens as it has been foretold, then that means you will survive for the next . . ." he checked the Midgardian clock, "Six years and forty-three days. Your survival means _my_ survival. Do not take my attention personally, but I rather enjoy my own assurances."

Clint's bow appeared in his hand and with a mighty swing, the lower limb came across and connected with Loki's jaw. The Frost Giant sailed sideways until he hit the floor. Barton stood, rubbing the spot in the middle of his back that he decided needed icing.

"Partnership accepted." He said to Loki's prone form, and headed for the door. Thor's adopted brother scrambled up to his feet, and followed along after him.

:(:):(:):

"Clint, no."

"I didn't pick this, and I sure didn't want it. But if we _don't_ say yes, he's just going to find his way in here without our permission."

"He's weird, and he's creepy, and he's Thor's evil brother!" Natasha shouted back.

"And I am standing right here." Loki said, folding his arms. His eyes cast a wide net around the small quarters that Clint and Natasha shared on the Gateway. "I just love what you've done with the place."

Natasha narrowed her eyes at him. "Go breathe in space."

"Loki, I will make you sleep in the hall, on the floor, hog tied, if I have to." Clint said, over his shoulder.

The Frost Giant lifted his hands in supplication, and glided across the room like a vapor. He hit the key to an adjoining room, and the door sprang open. "There are six rooms on this side of the ship, and all of them are interconnected. You just happened to have found the corner room. I will sleep here," he motioned inside the adjacent room. "and spare your mortal qualms about my interfering with your love making."

Clint called his bow to his hand and chased after the man, but Loki slipped inside and sealed the door before the weapon could connect. Barton heard him snickering from the other side. Clint kicked the bottom of the divider, and threw his hands up at Natasha. "I can't handle that following me around for the next six years. I might lose my mind. Or kill him."

She didn't smile. "Can I tell you which I prefer?"

Loki's face phased through the sealed door. "That is not very kind."

Clint turned around and punched him, but only managed in connecting with the metal frame. He yelped and drew his hand back, shaking it frantically. "Loki, you come over here one more time tonight and I'm going to shoot you – "

"In the eye?" the mischievous voice drifted to him.

"In the nuts!" Clint corrected. He stopped shaking his hand to consider the red and bruised knuckles. There was a spigot in the corner beside another entry where the bathroom hid. He flicked the faucet on and washed the blood off his hand.

"How did the World Council go?" he asked.

"You weren't there." Natasha said, returning to the pile of clothes she laid out on their bed. She didn't bring many things into the sky, weight restrictions kept everyone to a single suitcase and little else. A few pull-out drawers were built into the wall. She drew them open one at a time and added both of their things to it.

"I didn't want to be." Clint replied. He pulled his hand away and wiped it dry on his shirt before going over to the bed. He sat down and started sorting through his few necessities.

"Quill missed you."

Clint looked up. "They found him? Where is he?"

Natasha stuffed a second load of shirts into their mutual drawer and slid it shut. She turned and leaned against them. "By Galaxy Red, past Xandar and Knowhere."

"Did he find it?"

She paused, her memory resting on the crestfallen look on Quill's face as he reported to the room of men and women. Since news spread on M-Day of the coming attack, new and inventive ways to classify the systems involved had to be established. Star maps, charts, plots, and lines were redrawn in the three-dimensional vastness of space. Charting the actual battle area was much more complicated than attempting to quantify the borders of Germany and France. It took Bruce five months of hard work to finally establish some sort of roadmap for the area they were going to operate in.

The easiest place to start was to view the entire galaxy as a sphere. The Nine Realms system took over the lower left side of the sphere and stretched upward on the left in the order of Alfheimr, Musphelheim, Hel, Vanaheim, Asgard, Nidavellir, Jotenheim, Svartalfheim, and Midgard.

At the top left, pushing backwards and diving to the right, existed the Xandar system, with the top of the sphere representing Xandar's border with the Kree Empire. Swinging down the right hand, one would encounter first Knowhere, floating about ten inches outside of the sphere at the edge of the Kree/Xandar boundary, and then going down Xandar-bordered Quivenrell and the Oore System.

The very center of the sphere was occupied from back to front by The Dark System on top (right beside Svartalfheim, the realm of dark elves), and Galaxy Red beneath (by Vanaheim), with the Hyth's Star Vein circling their border. The most important of all these systems was the location of the very black hole from which Galactus planned to return to the galaxy through. That lay in the edge of Hyth's tail, on the map's right in Galaxy Red.

Steve sat by the head of the table along with Nova Prime, Drio, the Dwarfish king from the realm Nidavellir, and Professor Xavier. Along the sides, other universal representatives gathered, including Vanaheim's regent, Shrin, Odin Allfather, Thor, Ligsri of Jotenheim, Brez and Krex from the Dark Systems, Oqquiri of Oore. Only Blenheim, the Star Vein, and Qivenrel went unrepresented at the World Council and their individuals communicated via remote system. Beside those faces, Peter Quill filled the center screen.

Natasha stayed behind the scenes, observing everyone at the table for signs of mounting tension. Many of the people gathered weren't exactly friends on the best of terms. Since coming to power, Ligsri declared open war against Odin and others from Asgard. It was the third such war in the planet's histories.

The first, began during Odin's father, Bohr's, regency, and extended through Odin's own. With the help of the Light Elves, Jotunheim was driven back from Asgard, and peace was declared for centuries. Fifteen Midgardian years prior, with the help of an Asgardian named the Enchantress and Loki himself, Jotunheim invaded again.

For a second time they were decimated on the field of battle. Clint, himself, gained notoriety in that war by rallying the disheartened Asgardians back into the fight before taking his team into the heart of Asgard's city to reclaim the captured capital. When Loki overthrew his adoptive father, Odin, for a time, it seemed Jotunheim had full control at last. Odin's return heralded a mighty war that lasted almost two full years. Since his defeat, Ligsri still held a grudge. Posturing was the name of Ligsri's game now.

On the other side of the universe, the Dark System's population was expanding, and they needed somewhere to go. The closest neighbor, Galaxy Red, disputed their attempt to control the outer planets in Red's system, and skirmishes had broken out over the past century. Having them in the same room was like asking to rub together a few sticks of dynamite. For everyone's benefit, they kept apart. Already, Ligsri and Odin seemed ready to square off at the slightest provocation, which Thor took no side on.

Vanaheim technically had two regents; Shrin commanded the advanced coastal cities, and Vruu, who controlled the antiquated inner mainland. Vruu and his people decided to abstain from the preparations of war, as was their right. The Dark System resented Vanaheim for its inability to come together as a complete nation, the way their entire forty-three planets had been able to. The Oore System resented the Dark System for being so pervasive on the matter, and threatened to storm off in defense of free choice. Quivenrel's prefect, a woman named Lotti of substantially diminutive stature with a face resembling a faun, laughed at the Oore's attempt at support, and pointed out that the best thing to leave their galaxy in the last two thousand years was, precisely, the Hyth star.

The Hyth Star was actually not a star at all, but a comet. It began circling the outer edge of the overlapping Galaxy Red and The Dark System after being jettisoned from the Oore system when a supernova exploded. It had since cut a path directly between both systems, creating a physical separation between them. The comet was settled on by the inhabitants of the supernova's solar system. As the planet-sized comet arched through the magnetic pull of both the systems, it dragged smaller planets, moons, and satellites into its tail, dusting all of its catches in a luminescent blue hue. Hyth's Star Vein had nearly twenty colonies, or mini biospheres, in its moving system. A collective body known as the Hen-En-Alli commanded the people. A representative of them, F'iti appeared just beneath the face of Lotti.

Musphelheim tried to remain as neutral as possible. Therefore, the son of their king, Petro, appeared in his father's place. The king himself, a notorious hot-head and trouble maker, would have had the World Council crumbling to its knees before anything was ever accomplished.

With all the interstellar tension in the room, one might hope – nay, pray! – that Peter Quill, and self-proposed Star-Lord, would be a bringer of good news on the Find-The-Infinity-Gauntlet hunt. That was far from the case. His ship was stranded, his men hungry, he lacked an adequate oxygen supply, and he'd picked up a random Clathian girl who danced behind him to the tune of the Jackson Five. Everyone in the room had the impression that allowing him to go off with his ragtag group of outlaws and find where the Infinity Gauntlet, the most powerful weapon in the universe, had been hidden was a distinctly bad idea.

Natasha considered everything she'd heard and saw in that World Council over the last three hours she'd decided to sit through before the members adjourned for another day. Clint waited for her to say something.

"Quill first insulted Petro, made fun of Xavier's head, and asked if Nova Prime could give him a little leeway on thirty-five separate crimes he apparently committed since yesterday morning. After that little explosion hit the room, he decided to mention that not only was he no closer to finding the Infinity Gauntlet than he was twelve weeks ago, but he also ran out of gas somewhere in the Oore System and requested that we send him a spare can."

Clint shook his head. He really shouldn't be surprised, and he wasn't, but that didn't make the blow any easier to take. They assumed Gamora would be all the babysitting Quill needed to complete the one task they set aside for him. They were wrong.

"It might be a good idea if I go out myself." Clint said.

"You?"

"Why not? You and me wanted to get apart anyway. You could stay here and watch things on this end while I go. I've worked with Star-Lord a few times, I might be able to keep him on track. Besides, who better to find the Infinity Gauntlet than me?"

She walked over, picked up their stack of pants and started shoving them into the small space beneath the shirt drawer. "I'm sure you could. There's only, what? Forty-billion places it could be? And that's only in our little ten percent corner of the universe. You could look forever and never come close to finding it. That's sort of why we sent him off to do this to begin with. Keep him busy and out of the way so he doesn't gum up the real work."

"Was Haladarrel there?" Clint asked. He'd feel guilty if the elf, who had saved Clint's life more times than he could count, arrived and Barton had stood him up.

"No, he hasn't left Vanaheim yet. Tomorrow, I think, he'll come. If not, do you want to go down and see him?"

"I should and want to, yes. It'll give me a chance to see this armada that dwarves, elves, alien Asians, Asgardians, Xandarians, and Bruce Banner made. You saw it already."

Natasha slid the drawer shut. "It's beautiful, in a way. There are thousands of ships. I've never seen anything as big as them. Tony's little side project is still walled off. He's not letting anyone see it until it's complete. I think that'll be another three months from now, at least."

"The _Bethlehem Star_." Clint remarked, nodding.

"You picked the name."

"I thought it was appropriate, what with the Genesis Edict and all. I was actually drunk at the time…" Clint caught her wrist when she came back with the last few things. In the mood to be inconvenienced, she allowed him to drag her into the bed on top of him.

"I'll talk it over with Tony and Bruce, see what they think about me helping Quill." Clint said, leaning up and pressing his lips beneath her ear.

She set her palms on the bed to hold up her weight. "Xandar's still worried."

"About the Kree?" Clint asked, switching sides.

She leaned more against him, enjoying the feel of a chill racing up her spine. "The truce is still on, but they think Brega has been talking to Thanos."

"Is Brega the blue Kree or the white one?"

"White."

Clint moved from her neck upward, crossing her face, finding her mouth, and pressed his lips against hers. As her eyes fell shut, he twisted them together and spun her on the bed. They were lying in the pile of remaining laundry with Natasha poised beneath him. She chewed his lip.

"Not funny." She said.

"Fun." He corrected. Pushing himself up, he straddled her waist. "All right, so they are worried about Thanos making trouble with his weird undead-Chitauri, and the leader of the Kree helping him do it. I could see that happening. We have scouts along the entire length of the three systems between them and us, so unless they find a way to go unnoticed – "

"Mr. Romanov?"

He stopped babbling and smiled in amusement. The man who contributed to Clint's own genetic creation with a Y chromosome was known as Mr. Barton to everyone, even his own sons. Natasha knew Clint hated the name with a passion that even forgiving his father never really wiped away. "Yes Mrs. Romanov?"

"Stop talking shop, and let's make Loki blush."

* * *

Bruce's Star Chart is available for viewing on my author facebook page. just look up Ezra Cross.

to "guest" who is oncerned about that ever daunting prologue: well, nothing in my stories is as it seems. I remember once starting half of a story, only to reveal it was all a dream. Is this all truth? Is this a parallel world? Will Clint actually be meeting his doom? Who is to know? I didnt learn myself until last week;)


	9. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**January 11th, 2029**

A warning klaxon.

Flashes of red light flicker-flicker-flickered in and out of view.

Someone screamed.

Clint's body flung sideways, hit something, or someone, and rebounded off the cold floor.

The siren squealed.

Disoriented, Clint shifted up. The bed sheets were trapped around his ankles and he tripped trying to free himself from them. Something smelled strange, like sizzling wires and ozone. He tried to look around in the flash of the red warning lights. The klaxon continued to wail. Metal slammed into metal with the force of a colliding car. Clint's body pitched forward, hit the side of the bed, and threw himself back onto the mattress. Someone beside him screamed.

"Natasha!" Clint came to his senses and cried out for her, reaching blindly around with one hand. He felt something slick and bleeding, the side of her head. He followed her hair down, found her arm, and dragged her against him.

"Clint!" she shrieked.

The wall across from them exploded. Metal pealed apart like a blooming flower and suddenly the vacuum of space pulled at them with incredible speed. Clint tightened his grip on her waist and fished over the end of the bed for something, anything to grab onto. The ship lurched a third time and the open wall across from them pitched upward. Their bodies dangled in the air as the vacuum sucked against them, dragging the articles off the bed, prying open drawers, pulling everything out into the soundless void and death beyond the safety of the ship's hull.

"Hold on!" Clint cried.

The door across from them pried open and without warning the feeling of being pulled apart vanished. Natasha and Clint fell, hit the floor, and tumbled toward the far wall. Loki rushed further inside and slid his way toward them in his nightclothes.

"Get up!" he roared. "It won't hold long, get up!"

He grabbed Clint by the arm and dragged the archer to his feet. The hall door opened and in a mass of falling bodies they rolled out of the living quarter. The blast door automatically sealed the room off behind them. Slowly the ship leaned to its port side, leveling out the ground beneath their feet again.

Clint gasped to catch his breath as Loki collapsed against the wall and did the same.

"Tasha?" Barton asked.

"A cut, just a cut." She said, pushing his hand away from her. She tapped a few fingers to her temple and winced.

"What just happened?"

Loki leaned up and spread out his hands to the sides. "What do you think? I do believe someone has taken the initiative of shooting at us."

"Who would be that crazy and stupid?" Natasha questioned, looking up at Clint. She had a sizable five inch gash along her hairline.

"Loki, get her to Bruce in the medical bay. I'll find that out."

"I am not a subject to be ordered!"—"If you think I'm leaving because a cut—" Both protests came simultaneously as the two across from him struggled to find their footing. Natasha fainted sideways, directly into Loki's arms who, surprisingly enough, caught her. Clint rushed forward and helped cradle her down. The _Gateway_ took another direct hit and the three of them flew off balance. Clint, poised over Natasha's body, attempted to keep her still.

"Tasha? Tasha wake up! Look at me!"

Loki scrambled to his knees and checked the woman's pulse. "She is unconscious, not dead."

Clint's heart let off the gas and began to slow. He pointed at Natasha, then at Loki, and lastly up the hall. "_She does **not** faint_. You take her to Bruce or else I'm making Thor send you to Svartalfheim and you won't be able to follow me at all."

Loki scowled at him. "You would not like the result of crossing me."

Barton moved passed him in the direction of the bridge. "Do what I said! And get my arrows! Oh, by the way, nice jammy-jays grease-lightning."

Loki's scowl deepened until it seemed his face would remain trapped that way but he reluctantly did as Clint asked and hoisted Natasha over his shoulder. He made his stumbling way down the corridor in the direction of the medical center only a floor away. Clint pushed on in the opposite direction. If Loki knew what was good for him, and he had no doubt the Frost Giant did, he would do as he'd been asked. Clint had to get to the command center.

He sailed through the first level, brushing through crowds of disoriented Terran heroes along the way. Gambit caught his arm instantly and the two bum-rushed a path through the others. They cut right, took the stairs up as hordes of others rushed down, and met a sealed set of blast doors. Gambit threw a card into it with little affect. The X-man indicated a different direction, and the both of them headed up an opened corridor. They sailed through the side doors of the command center. Half of the windows were locked down with the outer protective shielding. Clint could see the torpedo-sized holes in their massive sheeting and the dents over the outer doors that somehow found a way to hold. Blaster fire cut a diagonal path across the bridge, taking a straight line of monitors and controls with it. Floor vents blasted upward with clouds of fire-choking dust to keep the entire bridge from going up in flames.

Steve stood behind the controls with a team of Terran fighter pilots around him forcing the ship to stay afloat. Deputies from other realms manned the battle stations and tried to salvage what remained of the ship's navigation system. Just outside the center windows, the crest of another ship brushed over their bow and dove into Vanaheim airspace. Clint watched in confusion as the massive destroyer suddenly, and inexplicably faded into nothing at all.

"What hit us?!" Gambit cried, mounting the catwalk to stand beside Clint.

"A Kree ship. We never even saw it coming!" Steve declared, struggling against the ship's controls to bring her out of the dive into the planet's atmosphere.

"I have seen this before." Thor whispered, watching three, four, and then five more Kree ships both appear and disappear on the journey into the atmosphere.

Clint closed in on him. "Thor, what is it?"

"It is not possible. I know it cannot be."

Clint grabbed the Asgardian and forced their eyes to meet. "WHAT IS IT?!" he demanded.

"What they have done—" Thor pulled away from him, strode across the walkway and pointed into the fleet of invisible ships. "That technology. I have only seen such a thing on the ships of the Dark Elves. How could they have achieved this?"

Clint looked at the Nova Core officer behind the navigation console. "You! How close was the Kree army to Svartalfhem?"

The technician's face paled as he brought up the globular map Bruce created. Sure enough, the last dregs of Kree airspace came incredibly close, too close, to that dead world where the last known dark elf ship crashed into. Clint cursed and slammed the palm of his hand against the metal console. He spun around to face Nova Prime.

"They've been playing us since day one to get themselves right where they want. Is that armada operational?" Nova Prime asked, looking to Steve.

"We're trying to scramble now but no one can reach them! They're sitting ducks down there."

Clint's mind snapped at the sudden thought. "Oh my God—Alfheimr! Steve, they're down there! All of them! They have no idea what's coming! Are communications online?"

"That was the first of our devices destroyed." A technician appeared over the side of a smoldering metal heap, holding a mass of fried wires. He shook his head hopelessly.

"I'm going down there." Clint announced.

"Clint!" Steve exclaimed. He tried to release the ship's controls, but the _Gateway'_s nose took a steep dive, throwing all of them across the catwalk. He grabbed them again and threw a desperate look after Barton. "Don't! You won't get there in time!"

"I'm not sitting here and watching all of them get slaughtered either!" Clint shouted back. There was no way he could do that, not after all Haladarrel sacrificed for him in the past. He took a fading look at the beautiful Vanaheim landscape. Soon, the entire surface would be on fire. Clint left the bridge and ran headlong into Loki at the same time. Before he could ask, the Frost Giant held up Clint's quiver and shoved it into Barton's chest.

"She is safely deposited as requested. Now the next time you demean me to such a task as errand boy—"

"Talk later, run now!" Clint told him, pushing away and tearing off down the corridor again. Loki rolled his eyes heavenward, wondered whether he had actually made the best decision after all, and caught up to the Avenger. They had to change routes a second time as before them a third blast door came down with a crash. The people were being funneled away from the outer edges of the ship and into the center where their protection was more readily guaranteed. Every single life was precious in the war to come, if they happened to live so long. Clint lead them down another passage, slid down level after level of stairs, and dropped onto a landing before shoving through another door. It closed them in.

"May I ask what it is you are trying to find?" Loki asked. Even after sprinting over half the ship he still didn't seem winded in the least.

"Hanger." Clint replied over his shoulder, yanking the next submarine-style door inward. He crouched, stepped in, and waited for Loki before sealing them both inside.

Loki looked over the countless modified quinjets below them. Few had been dispatched to fight off the surprise attack. Too many people had already been funneled into the ship's center to man what remained. Skeptically, Loki considered the options.

"Are we planning to destroy the entire Kree fleet ourselves?"

Clint didn't stay on the landing to chit-chat, he was already heading down to pick out a fighter that seemed capable of immediate lift-off. "We don't need to take them out. We just have to reach the Vanaheim hangers before they do." Clint found one he liked, threw open the pilot's hatch, and lifted himself in. He didn't bother to wait for Loki who paused outside for a moment and again considered the sanity of his decision. He'd come this far already, though. Using his long fingers, he grasped the edges of the hatch and pulled up. He hadn't even managed to hoist his legs inside before Clint was already guiding the ship into the open air. Faster, Loki tucked his legs in and slammed the hatch lid shut. The hiss of the vacuum seal attested to its proper placement.

"You might have waited until I was inside." He said angrily.

"You could be faster." Clint shot back. He grabbed the co-pilot's head set and handed it backward. "Now if I'm stuck with you, you better make yourself useful. Get up here and strap in."

"Why yes, my most esteemed and annoying pest of a companion." Loki replied. He glared at the headset, affixed it with trepidation over his ears and strode forward to drop into the co-pilot's seat. He fished around for the harness, considered against it, and glanced over at Barton. "Some pair this makes. Do you realize you have nothing on."

Clint looked down at himself. Sure enough he wasn't wearing any clothes save for his boxers. He threw the disgruntled look right back at Loki. "Look who's talking. I never fancied you for long underwear. And for the record, all of my clothes are now hurtling through Vanaheim's atmosphere. What's your excuse?"

"I have no need to keep such trivialities." Loki replied haughtily. He closed his eyes to concentrate for a moment on the state of his physical appearance in order to manifest a proper wardrobe. The quinjet bucked, sending the Frost Giant up about two feet before he came back down on his rump. Clint cut the jet sideways to make it through the open docking bay door, and they blasted into open space at last. Behind them the Gateway's defense systems finally fired to life. Streams of laser shots and torpedoes blasted out with expert targeting systems Tony had designed for the smaller fighters. The few remaining Kree warships that hadn't gone under cloak began to take heavy fire, despite their shielding systems.

"I thought you were manifesting jeans over there." Clint interrupted Loki's thoughts.

Loki grabbed at the restraints and buckled them into place. "It does take a deal of concentration and you do not exactly sport the steadiest hand on this infernal ship!"

"Hey, talk like that means you sit in the back of the ship. Now hush up and make with the concentrating."

"If you would silence your blathering jaw for twelve seconds I might!" Loki shot back. A few seconds later, he looked over into the face of Natasha Romanov and smiled. "Oh, well that sight does make me feel a tad better."

Clint (or Natasha's) face scrunched up and pulled back at the strange come-hither look on the adopted Asgardian. It didn't make any sense to Clint until he looked down at himself and realized what Loki had done. Clint grabbed the steering wheel a little tighter.

"I said you would rue the day you crossed me." Loki replied, shifting his form to add a decent layer of clothing to himself. He allowed Barton to stay in Natasha's form too, despite the heavy protestations, all the way to the surface of Vanaheim.

:(:):(:):

The city's spires had yet to see the full brunt of the Kree's surprise attack. Clint had no way of knowing how close the enemy ships were, but he did know that the thrusters on his smaller quinjet had the ability to out-maneuver the much larger and slower destroyers. The minute he broke atmosphere, he threw the navigation control's to Loki's console and grasped for the ship-to-ship coms.

"This is Hawkeye calling the Battle Docks, can you hear me? If anyone is there, come in!"

"The controls on this machine are simply in a deplorable state." Loki complained.

"Next time why don't you decide to build it yourself?" Clint fired back. He motioned to himself and the tight leather cat suit Loki put him in. "Spare me, please."

"Ugh, well, all right." He sighed, settling on Clint's old SHIELD uniform to put the Avenger in.

"You weren't this mean when you took out my mind and played with it."

"You weren't this fun when I took your mind and played with it."

"_Battle Docks reading you loud and clear. Repeat—"_

"Hello?" Clint put the mic back to his mouth and radioed into it. "This is Hawkeye, now listen up! I need you to mobilize anything that can fly and what you can't get off the ground, I need you to tighten up better than a nun's corset! We have hostiles, I repeat, we have multiple hostiles on their way. They are going to level the city. This is an immediate evacuation, got me?"

The other line faltered for half a second, no doubt absorbing the depths of what Clint conveyed. "Ho—How much time?"

"None! Get out of there, NOW!" Barton exclaimed. He switched comm channels, trying to get in touch with the underground training base.

"Since we have just flown into the midst of a great onslaught to come, how exactly do you wish to proceed?" Loki asked flashing a curious expression at him.

"We need to get to the training center. Alfheimr's king is there and he's our top priority." Clint replied.

Loki nodded once and adjusted their course. The ship howled to life, a red and green light streaming over the switchboard. He leaned over, flicked a blinking switch and a backward relay camera centered on Clint's half of the view screen. "It seems out friends have entered the atmosphere without their clever disguise."

"We must have knocked it out on one of them. The others we're not so lucky with." Clint replied. He tapped the relay switches again, finally breaking through the lines of code to reach someone on the other end. He passed along the message again, ordered an immediate evacuation, and called for the bay doors to be opened. He planned to land the quinjet even if they went down in a hail of bullets and jet fuel fire.

"Two minutes out. Pass me the controls." Clint said, pulling back on his steering yoke. Loki swiped his hand on the liquid screen between them and the controls went back to Clint's side. The rear view screen flipped to Loki's where he began to manipulate it.

"They are opening fire." Loki announced.

Clint braced himself, spun left, climbed, and then went into a nose-first dive that brought them right through the center of the city. They hid beneath the gilded archways and towering spires from the Kree warships directly above him. The city itself was not so lucky. Four more Kree destroyers appeared in the sky, their cloaked shielding peeling back like a second skin to reveal the massive warship hidden beneath. The sight of them blackening out the crescent moon gave Clint a temporary pause. He'd never seen something that large in his life, not since Galactus first came to Earth in his humanoid form and nearly turned the planet inside out.

"I believe speed, in this case, would be quite wise." Loki told him.

His temporary glance over, Clint returned to the task at hand. He hit the thrusters, pushing the ship to its very limits and beyond. Beside him Loki plastered back against his seat and breathed a little faster. His long white fingers clung to his arm rests as Clint made impossibly fast turns in the city streets. When they encountered an endless wall that seemed to stretch forever, he pulled back on the controls, the ship lurched straight up and rolled wing-over-wing until they got clear. That's when the barrage started. The Kree ships coordinated their attack in a blanket-wide destruction of the entire city. Escape ships already began to climb into the sky. The less experienced pilots were frantically fighting to find free air, only to be cut in half under the volley of blaster fire. Clint couldn't think of that. He had a single mission. He had to get their pilots off the ground and save as much of the armada as he could.

The quinjet responded expertly to his touch as he swung around the open training center dock and began to put the ship down. Unexpectedly and new wave of canon fire rained down on them from above. The ship lurched out of Clint's hands and before he could regain control they went into a cutting arc and landed sideways into the wing of another ship. A volley of firepower followed them in. Pilots were scrambling around them to get into cockpits only to be blown apart under the ready Kree guns. Some, at least, managed to get out. They swarmed the air like kicked hornets, flooding the Kree ships in return fire.

Clint lost consciousness for a moment when the ships collided. He came awake very suddenly strapped into the seat of his smoldering quinjet with Loki fighting out of his restraints beside him. Barton thumbed his own jump seat and fell forward against the front panel chest-first. He gasped, touching a finger against his side. Something was bleeding there.

At the sound of his voice, Loki threw him a sharp glance. "You are injured?"

"Not bad." Clint lied. He had no idea how bad he was. He tugged himself up with the back of his chair and swung over the center instrument panel. He held a hand against his side and indicated the hatch. "Get that open before we burn to death in here."

Loki, having no desire to die himself, shoved the seal on the jump hatch aside and kicked it downward. He stepped back, letting Clint slide down first. If anyone was going to be accidentally shot while entering the under-attack base, it would be the first one to leave the ship. He wanted to cover all his bases of personal preservation. When Clint was clear, he lowered down beside him and took in their surroundings. A few Elves began pouring out of a smoke-filled hall. Clint made for them, but another wave of firebombs cut off their path. Loki and he dove to the side as the world around them exploded. Ships peeled back with the force and tumbled end-over-end like missiles of their own. A wing sheared off, coming within a few feet of the pair before it imbedded in the solid rock floor. Clint and Loki looked down at it, then at each other, and decided to make a run for it.

The hall the Elves had been running down sealed off in the second explosion. The survivors limped away, trying to find cover wherever it may be had. Clint knelt beside the closest one and quickly demanded where Haladarrel and the other pilots were. The elf lifted his hand and pointed down an adjacent corridor. "We were pushed back! The entry has sealed and our king has gone in for them! He may not escape!"

Clint bounded to his feet and followed Loki around the mounting rubble and blazing fires. The edges of the hanger above their heads crumbled under the continued attack. A massive shake rocked the entire compound, and suddenly those edges came loose. Concrete, two tons in weight, dropped from the sky and smashed into the ground. Loki pulled up short outside the tunnel leading underground. He cast a glance at Clint.

"This boarders on the suicidal." He said.

Clint called his Asgardian bow to his fingers. "I'm going in there."

"You might have a death date over your head but I do not. I could very well not survive this encounter." Loki growled back.

Clint left him, sprinting down the tunnel alone. "I didn't ask you to come!"

:(:):(:):

The tunnel was a death trap. Walls collapsed together as the bombardment shook the foundation of the land above them. Concrete and metal struts dropped into the open passage threatening to bury him beneath them. A few Elves hadn't been lucky enough to escape. He paused by their crushed bodies, checking their pulses to be sure whether they were alive or not. Ahead of him he heard the shouts of frantic men rushing back and forth in their attempt to free something or someone. Clint called forward and tried to get their attention but another blast from above destroyed the entryway across from him. Adrenaline flooded through him, pumping his heart like a jackhammer as he crushed sideways to squeeze through the minor passage left to enter.

"Hello!" Clint called again. "Can anyone hear me?"

Arriving through the other side of the partition, Clint fell into the back of an Elven man. The creature turned. His face was covered in sweat, dust, and fresh blood. He and the twelve others beside him were trying to fight their way through a solid blast door. Wires from a circuit panel were in one of the Elves' hands. He threw a look over his shoulder and Clint realized it was Linnor.

"Ackarae!" He shouted the Elven word for archer with shock. "What are you doing here? How did you come here?"

"Where is Haladarrel?!" Clint demanded, pushing his way through them. Some tried to clear the path back up the hallway and the safety beyond.

Linnor worked swiftly on the door. "Beyond here! He came back for them. The doors have sealed him in. He cannot get out! Are the other entries free?"

"Everything's collapsed." Clint told him, shoving forward in the space. "This is the only hall left open into the base." He stared through the small porthole. In the next room he could see a center room full of rubble. Overhead a gas line blew out fire like a flamethrower across what remained of the exposed conduits. Blood and bodies both littered the floor. What he could not see was the king of Alfheimr. Clint looked back the way they came and considered the wall set in their path. Even if he could get Haladarrel out, it was impossible to move them through the small space before the walls came right down on everyone.

"Alright, everyone out! Back down the hall, I have a plan! Linnor, come on!"

"I will never abandon my king!" Linnor spat fiercely, refusing to be moved.

Clint grabbed his arm, not because he knew he could strongman him away, Elves were much too powerful for him to try that, but he could move him mentally. "I'm not asking you to abandon him. I'm asking you to let me save him, now come on! We're out of time!" Linnor's terrified eyes focused on Clint. There was trust between them. One fought for long and hard in times and wars past. Finally Linnor let go. He left the work on the door's circuitry and the two followed the others on their way through the small hole. They vaulted through the hurdles in their path and when Clint thought they were at least a decent space away, he pulled out his bow and arrow. He changed tips, set it on his string, and shouted back to the others.

"Everyone get down! This'll either save us or bury us. So start praying." Clint set his arrow on the string. Pulled the nock back against his face and lined up his shot. The arrow rushed off the string, through the obstacle course, and hit the blast doors on the other side. Clint ducked down. An Elven arm came over his back and tucked his head in. They all waited as the man-made explosion rocketed down the hall toward them. Clint felt shrapnel and concrete skitter across their bodies. When he looked up, the path was clear again. He scampered to his feet and headed back for the blast doors. He knew they didn't open; they were designed to withstand a bigger explosion than what Clint's arrows could manage but the wall beside it crumbled just enough to fit a small man through. The Elves may have been too large, but Clint could certainly get inside.

"Stay here, I'll get him out!" Clint told them, already passing through the other side before a single one of them had a chance to protest. He slid his quiver off and left it on the outside of the wall, should they require more firepower again, and slipped inside. He had to keep low, left, and avoid the rocket of flames bearing down from the gas line above him. Through the dust and smoke, the ashes and fire he felt around for any sign of Haladarrel Bywater. Clint slid his hands forward, feeling his way like a firefighter until he came across the first lump of something. It was a bed roll. He must be in one of the living quarters. He moved over the bed, felt passed another one, and was pushing forward toward the closest access way when something beneath him moaned. He stopped and retraced his steps back. His eyes were watering, making it difficult to see what lay beneath him. Clint felt something that might have been an arm and traced it up. Apparently it was Haladarrel's leg, flattened and crushed beneath the weight of a boulder. He kept following up Haladarrel's chest, shoving debris hundreds of pounds in weight away. Lastly he discovered Haladarrel's face through the smoke and ash.

"Hal!" Clint exclaimed. He set a hand beside his face and tapped him gently. Trying to bring the Elf around. "Wake up for me, come on. Wake up."

"Ackarae, have you found him?" Linnor shouted through the hole.

"I have him!" Clint shouted back. "Get that door open, I have to drag him out."

"It is coming. Hurry, please!"

Clint's lungs felt the heavy weight of the gas and smoke trying to overrun him. He reached down and wrapped his arms beneath Haladarrel and crawled backwards as he dragged the king toward safety. The door sprang open and half a dozen hands reached inside to help him.

"Easy with him! I think his head's bleeding. His whole side's crushed in. Is he breathing? Linnor, check on him!"

The Elves eased Haladarrel in the hallway and tried rousing him.

"Is he breathing?" Clint asked again desperately.

Linnor looked up. His voice fluttered. "I believe so. He may be . . . he needs help urgently."

"Get him up. I saw another door, I want to check it. You three get him down the hall. Loki is there, find a ship, and get him on it! I'll be right back—"

"Ackarae!" Linnor cried.

Clint stood to go back into the depths of the inferno. An explosion shot above them and it was all he could do to fall sideways and out from under the sinking metal struts. The Elves screamed for him again, but it was too late. He was on the other side of the rubble already and far beyond their reach. Linnor rushed the fallen concrete and instantly set to lifting chunks of rock away. He turned on his compatriots.

"Kinmae en tema geli! Rechae! Rechae!" _Get the king to safety! Hurry, Hurry!_

A few of the Elves tended their king while the others threw themselves at the pile of fallen rock. The world was crumbling around them. They had to get out, now, or risk being buried alive with Clint. After watching the man risk his very life to save their beloved ruler, nothing on heaven or earth could move Linnor from what he must do to get Clint out. They dug until their fingers bled, desperate to uproot the archer just a wall away from them.

* * *

Holy cow! How exciting! What will happen next? Will Loki rush in to save him? Will Clint be buried alive? Stay tuned!

-Please review! I'm slaving away on this one for sure:)


	10. Chapter 8

Danger trickles in... actually, it crashes in!

* * *

**Chapter 8**

Clint blinked awake. His consciousness flooded back and forth like the nausea in his belly. He was starting on a decent concussion, and he knew it. The pain in his side came from some wound he couldn't afford to give any attention to. He still had work ahead. Through the dark, he looked up and saw, not one entryway, but three, that may still hold trapped Alfhiemr natives. He had to save them. Struggling up, Clint pulled his legs out from beneath the pile of fallen concrete and drywall. He crawled forward on his hands and knees, grabbed one of the mattresses, yanked himself upright, and hit the emergency button on the closest blast door. The fail safe jammed. Clint hit it again, staring inside the port hole window at the bodies strewn within. He stopped trying to open the door. No one inside could have survived. Three tons of concrete had fallen straight down in a single sheet. Nothing that was inside, remained. Clint moved on.

He felt lightheaded, and his stomach churned in the concussion-induced nausea. He fought against it and hit the next emergency button. The door sprang open instantly, and three elves fell in front of him. They were gasping, struggling to draw air as the fires in the room had consumed nearly all the oxygen. Clint leaned over and dragged them into his small room, keeping low to avoid the still blowing fireball over his head.

"Is anyone else alive in there?" He asked.

"_Esheun me'ke_." _I do not know_, one proclaimed, coughing to breathe.

Clint threw himself through the entry, keeping low to try and survive the overwhelming black smoke pouring through the far door. If anyone was alive beyond that room, he'd be shocked. He uncovered another five elves. They staggered in front of him toward the temporary safety the next room offered. Clint followed them, inspected the final blast door, and found he couldn't get through.

"Our escape's right there!" Clint said, pointing to the pile of rubble that had fallen on him. "Try and get through! Linnor is on the other side!"

"Where are you going?" One asked him, struggling to do as Clint instructed.

"I'm going to try to get in that last room." Clint replied. He searched around the floor with his hands, found the edge of a sheet and made short work tearing himself a strip of it. He wrapped it around his mouth and nose. Half a second later, he dove back in through the billowing smoke, and cut sharply left. Loki's words, from hours before, entered his mind now. If these barracks had the same designer as the rooms to the _Gateway_, then a secondary access door should exist between them the way Loki's room connected to Natasha's and his. He stayed low, feeling his way along the wall until he found the slight depression that attested to a door. He stuck his fingers against it, sliding them into the small open crack, and lined up beside it to yank the entry open. Something at his back cackled and exploded. He fell forward onto his face, and threw his hands over his head as the ceiling engulfed in a canopy of orange flames. He panted against the floor. The air around him burned going down, like breathing in a lava flow. He reached over with one hand, rolled onto his side, and hooked the bottom of his boots on the edge of the door. The boots kicked down, shoving the entry open the rest of the way.

"Hello?! Anyone alive in here?" he screamed inside, army-crawling forward.

"Help! Ferali!" dozens of voices cried.

Clint pushed himself up on his palms, and looked around the end of a row of bunks. The far entry to this room was still open. Hundreds of Elves gathered in that hall, hunkered down under the dust of the destruction seeking them out. Clint's just found the mother-load. "Follow me! The blast doors won't stay open. Keep low, these flames are going to choke us out! We have to clear the path. Hurry!" Clint told them. He turned in place, crawling back the way he came, with the lines of Alfheimr artisans following behind him. He stayed by the first door, keeping it open and directing their path all at once. The fire canopy had sucked away, back-building somewhere deep in the heart of the Elven barracks. They had to get out before it came for them again.

"Ackarae!" one of the Elves shouted.

Clint rubbed his eyes clean with the backs of his filthy hands and squinted forward at who called for him. To his shock, he saw Faraday, the brother of Linnor. His heart skipped a beat at seeing the dear friend. If Clint hadn't come this way, if he had turned back and given up, would the Elf have succumbed to the smoke and fire?

"Faraday!" Clint cried back. "Your brother is on the other side. Hurry, get out!"

"Not without you!" Faraday hurriedly shook his head. "And our king. We must find him! He stopped for us. He tried to free us out. He harkened to your warning, and came for us."

"He's out, I promise. I found him first. Please, go now!" Clint grabbed Faraday's arm and shoved the Elf along. Linnor would never forgive him if Clint managed to save the king, but failed to rescue his only living kin. Clint's look of desperation was enough to make Faraday understand. He followed the line of others, and left Clint tending the doorway. It seemed like forever and a day had passed before the final Elf was dragged past him in the arms of his friends and comrades. They didn't seem any better off than their friend, whose fractured ankles made his own mobility impossible. Clint came up behind them, threw the Elf's arm over his own shoulder, and allowed the other two to move on ahead of him. He glanced over at the face of the Alfheimr native.

"Is this everyone?" Clint asked him.

"I hardly know. It all befell before we had the chance to defend ourselves. Has Rinon come for us?" He answered.

Clint shook his head against the much taller Elf's chest. He must have been confused. Rinon hadn't been the regent in Alfheimr in over twelve Terran years. As far as Clint knew, he was still on Alfheimr. "No, Haladarrel came. He's been taken to safety. We're getting you out, too." Together he struggled through the last blast door, and welcomed the site of the opening between the barracks and the hall beyond. Linnor stood there, ferociously determined to escort his countrymen out single-handed. Across from him, Faraday managed the opposite side of the rubble pile, helping the people through the hole they'd cut through the rock. A wash of relief paled Linnor's face when Clint returned to them.

"Grenya! Oh, Ackarae, you found him!" Linnor exclaimed in excitement. His hands reached over, and with Faraday guiding the Elf through. Grenya passed to the safety on the other side of the hall, where more elves took over his weight. Clint nodded to Faraday, forcing the Elf to go next. Once Linnor's brother dropped to the other side, they both waited to help Clint.

"Is Hal ok?" Clint asked. Linnor lifted Barton's quiver and handed it back to him. Clint strapped it on as they sprinted away.

"Loki has found us a ship. He commands it now. Patience has not been his virtue." Linnor explained as they ran. He did not mention the state of Haladarrel.

"Loki?" Faraday questioned.

"Your surprise is only expounded by my own." Linnor replied.

They appeared at the end of the tunnel along with the tail end of the rescued Light Elves. Loki had come across one of the retrofitted _Blackbirds_, and it now hovered a few feet from the entrance, its cargo hold full of the bloodied and injured Elves. Clint tried not to focus on their faces as he cut a path through them to reach the cockpit. Linnor set to scanning the area one more time before he closed the rear doors.

"Planning to subject our rescue ship to all the inhabitants of Elven lands?" Loki asked as Clint opened the pass-through to the cockpit.

"What are you complaining about? I didn't see you diving under any flamethrowers." Clint replied. He closed the door behind himself, and moved forward to take a seat beside the Frost Giant. The minute he sank down into the seat, he felt as if his entire body weighed an extra two hundred pounds. Exhaustion hit him like a hammer. There was still so much left for them to do. He slowly unwrapped the cloth from his mouth and nose. He tossed it onto the floor, and shrugged the five-point harness over his bare arms.

"A few actually assumed I would assist in carrying them. I believe I will never feel a deeper insult." Loki said.

Clint hissed as the lower left buckle brushed against the rend in his side. He leaned over a little, probing the injury with a shaking hand. He groaned, this time loud enough that Loki stirred.

A steely glare analyzed Barton like an insect under lamp. "You _are_ injured. Why have you said nothing?!"

"Never knew you cared. Last I remember, the first time we met, you didn't let me eat or drink for the seven hellish days you borrowed my body." Clint leaned over, grabbed the smoke-stained cloth again, and gently eased it against his bleeding side. He winced, trying to keep the pain in check.

"You were too busy murdering in my name. It was not my fault you did not bother to snack for your own mortal health." Loki replied, though with less of an edge in his voice. He glanced at the blood on Clint's hands, and attempted to gauge how much of it might have come from Barton himself and not those he just removed from the fires. "How bad is it?"

"Not as bad as it could be." Clint replied. After all, he could be missing half of his internal organs.

"Will it be killing you before we have the opportunity to escape our deaths?"

"Probably not."

"You should force one of those Elven space wasters to sit in your place and tend your wound."

"I'm fine." Loki might not be wrong, but Clint didn't want to tell him that.

"Good." Loki flicked a few switches on the overhead circuit boards, and sealed the cargo hold and main hatch. His hands flit expertly over the foreign machinery, gliding the _Blackbird_ up to the waiting war raging over their heads. The sky was on fire with the craze of the surprise attack. Ships passed them on either side, attempting to get away but failing. The once blue and cream atmosphere had turned black in smoke and death. Buildings listed and burned. men and women, natives and workers fell from their skyscrapers to the endless pavement below. Some attempted to reach the waters and failed. Others clung to their fiery landings, screaming into the coming darkness for some kind of rescue from the absolute slaughter. Those faces Clint would never forget.

"Punch the A-grav."

Loki looked around the console. "The what?"

"Artificial gravity. Blue button. I don't need the Elves flying all over the cargo hold while we do this."

Loki flipped up the protective plastic cover, and thumbed the button down. The ship hummed with an internal engine beneath their feet, and he felt his body lighten just marginally. Artificial gravity engines tended to replicate an easier environment than the typical planetary ones. Clint leaned back against the seat, and pulled up the navigation systems. He was lucky the main layout of the ship hadn't altered much from the traditional _Blackbird_ he was used to flying back on Earth. Four massive red ships highlighted the overview of the sky. Thousands of smaller lights, either blue or red, swirled around the airspace. The _Blackbird_ lunged left as a ground-to-air missile nearly blew right through their lower vents.

Loki threw the ship into a spin, and drove her straight up. "You might want to mention that we are on the side of those on the ground. Perhaps then they may decide not to kill us!"

Clint brought up the ship-to-ship communication. Loki lunged again, dropping into a dive before the engines could stall out. They turned on their side, sling-shotting around a smoldering city tower, and came up the rear-end of a Kree warship.

"This is Blackbird 12 to Vanaheim Command. We are transporting refugees and the Alfheimr King. Do not shoot us!" Clint roared into the comms. He shot a glance at Loki. "Good enough?"

"Adequate." The Frost Giant replied. He guided the ship into another sideways crawl, then dove beneath the Kree ship they shadowed.

"We have to get out of the atmosphere. One good bomb drop, and they're going to light this world on fire." Clint said, shaking his head.

"I think you fail to understand that I already know that."

"Well, Mr. I'm-the-best-pilot-on-Asgard, do something about it!"

There was a slight change in Loki's expression. His pale face, slicked back raven hair, and green eyes unfocused for just a moment. He took in the entire expanse of the battlefield, the navigation system, and the ability of the heavy-ended ship all at once. It was the sort of cold, calculating stare that Clint had seen in the man only briefly in a shared past Clint preferred to forget forever. They'd spent time together in those days before the Avengers officially joined, when Clint was nothing more than a SHIELD agent with a happy outlook to stay a hired gun. Loki walked through the Tesseract, and changed his entire life. They spent every hour, of every day, together for nearly a week. Clint didn't sleep, didn't eat; he was a mindless slave, studying the man who had enlightened him to a life he couldn't have ever dreamed of. It was simple, blind, following that at the time seemed good enough for Clint. He knew that look Loki just gave the battlefield before him, because he's seen it once before.

"Don't." Clint whispered to him.

Loki blinked, the faraway look dispersing temporarily. He didn't spare Clint a second glance.

"We're getting out of this." Clint kept on. His steady assurance was the only think they had to hold on to. "Send me the controls."

Loki remembered that time just as well. When he sat on the floor at his hidden Tesseract base and conversed with Thanos. He came out of that meeting angry, shaken, and doubtful. He knew the power he toyed with was more powerful than he could control, and Clint could see that in him too. His eyes lifted that day, and saw Barton standing there, watching him with that all-knowing stare. Loki tried ignoring him. Clint pressed the issue. The endless loyalty of the archer moved him, despite the fact that Loki controlled him.

"_We'll be just fine, sir. I'm here for you, whatever you require."_ Clint told him back then. Loki had never known such allegiance before, or after. Loki didn't hesitate. The full command of the piloting switched consoles, and Loki went back to navigation.

"I still hate you, and one day I think I'll throw you into a dying star." Barton said suddenly, interrupting Loki's introspection. Laufeyson shook his head, trying to dispel the old memories they unwillingly dredged up.

"And I would like nothing more than to see your body torn apart by despicable creatures. Tell me, which of us is assured of their desire coming to fruition?" He replied smoothly.

Clint didn't reply. He focused everything he had left on that mission they flew toward. Breach the atmosphere. Make it to open airspace. Dock with the _Gateway_. Get help. Those were his tasks. To accomplish them, he had to become something of a wizard.

Loki braced back and waited to see what Clint was going to do. He didn't often trust others with his personal livelihood, but Clint had a certain level of gallantry to him. Barton took the controls, and smoothly guided the ship down. Then, up they went into a spin before diving under a support strut on the side of the Kree warship's wing. An arc of blaster fire followed them, but Clint expertly guided them through the volley. They went into another spin, fell in behind another evacuation ship, and peeled left and up along their flank. The heavier engines and improved thrust of the _Blackbird_ took her up faster than the smaller quinjet. The other ship fell into Clint's jet stream, drafting its way into the sky just before another line of Kree fighters tore at them sideways. The quinjet fell back in a smoldering mass, spun out of control, and exploded hundreds of feet beneath them.

"Get the targeting computers online, and send some of that spunk back at them." Clint said to his copilot. Loki's seat shifted to the side as he closed in to the weapon's console. His sleek fingers glided over the keys, and a globe map of the battlefield hovered in the air above him. He picked out twelve of the flashing red targets, and launched countermeasures.

"I do believe a child could operate this _advance_ machine you pride yourself on." Loki said smugly.

"Hey, I don't listen to the opinion of the guy that didn't help kill all he Dark Elves, and instead decided to use the time to overthrow Odin. So hush your opinion!"

"This is not even remotely my fault. For one, my portals are much too small for a ship the size of the Kree." Loki replied, targeting another dozen fighters.

"You could have ordered the destruction of one Dark Elf ship while you were king of Asgard. But you know, that's just my opinion." Clint flicked the controls, dove beneath the fireball of one of Loki's connected torpedoes, and continued to blast upward out of the atmosphere.

"You try to be king, and then, perhaps, I will entertain your puny opinion of my ruling measures."

Clint laughed, despite himself. He never would have thought, in a thousand years, that his life would lead to this moment. Loki and he, with a cargofull of Elves, escaping a firestorm on Vanaheim. He pushed the ship to its very limits until, at last, the expansive dark sky of space took over the viewport. That wasn't all they faced. The _Gateway _hung before them, nose-forward to the coming enemy squadron. The four massive Kree ships setting fire to Vanaheim below, were merely the offspring of what lay before them. The flotilla was over a thousand battle cruisers strong. Their dark blue hides caught the light from Vanaheim's sun. They were a fearsome, terrible sight to behold. The _Gateway_ managed to mobilize their own jump ships, but it was like watching a storm of mosquitoes attacking the Dubai Tower. The Kree cruisers stacked ten, twenty deep, and stretched for as far as Clint's eyes could see. Loki abandoned his weapons and pressed forward, his palms resting on the console.

"We . . . we've got to run." Clint whispered, shaking his head in shock.

"Vanaheim will be destroyed." Loki said. He didn't disagree, he merely stated the obvious.

"Don't they get it? If we aren't ready in six years, everyone in these systems, theirs included, is going to die."

Loki leaned back. His shoulders fell as he considered their lack of options. "Words of a race no one has met, but those heroes of Midgard. Why should the Kree believe such nonsense? I hardly know why I have subscribed to it."

Clint thought of all those people on the planet's surface he would never see again. He thought about Steve and Tony, Bruce and Natasha . . . all of them were on the _Gateway_. If that ship didn't turn now and jump into light speed, then they would never get the chance too. It would be torn apart in seconds by any one of the thousands of Kree warships. They entered into a no-win scenario, and there was nothing they could do to escape it. The Kree were ready before the heroes were, and they'd snuck right into their backyard unnoticed. The war was over before it could even start. The distant lingering fear of a Kree uprising was now a reality, and a long held one at that. The _Gateway_ began to turn, flashing its broadside to the waiting canons of the Kree. If they ever wanted a better opportunity to destroy the very heart of the galaxy's defenders, this was it. From their safe distance out of the line of fire, Clint's heart stopped as he watched the Kree ships rev to life. Their canons glowed red.

The first shot fired over the bow of Clint's ship. He jumped in his harness, the shock of it overwhelming him. He'd been so fixated on the _Gateway_, he'd completely forgotten about his own position. He took the ship into a climb.

"What's on us?" Clint asked.

Loki fired up the navigation, and swiped the locators backward to take in the area behind them. For once, the Frost Giant was rendered completely speechless.

Clint whipped his head across the cockpit. "What is it? How many of them?"

"Stop a moment."

Clint didn't. He turned the ship, trying to level her out enough to let the _Gateway_ come into view again. Loki shut the navigation console down, and flicked it back on. He waited as the image sprang to life, no different from the moments prior.

"Tell me something!" Clint shouted.

Before Loki had the chance to form his surprise into words, their viewscreen flickered with the image of an incoming transmission. Clint looked up into the holographic rendering of former king of Alfheimr, Rinon. His long white hair framed the sides of his pale face. A slim crown, made from woven willow stems and gold, rested over him like it was the most natural thing in the world. His face was tight, sharp, and full of angles from the slope of his nose to his prominent chin and brow. His ears were pulled back, chin jutted out in the sign of Elven authority.

"Ackarae Odin, fi rele kinmex Alfheimre. Odin's archer. Friend of the Alfheimr Kings. You may stand down. My people will conquer this threat ourselves." Rinon said. His silvery, lavender eyes held Clint's only briefly before the screen cut out.

Clint watched as a fleet of Alfheimr ships rushed around the small _Blackbird_. First hundreds, then thousands, all of them appearing from hyperspace, and revealing themselves from their invisible shielding the same way the Kree had. After all, it had been Elven technology first. The Elves were beautiful to see in action. They cut across space like a fish through water. Within seconds they covered the distance between the _Blackbird_ and the _Gateway_ incredibly fast. Once positioned between the heroes and Kree, the Elves closed in together, their wings extended like solar fans, and created an impenetrable force field wall around the heroes' ship.

"Xandarian technology." Loki whispered, watching it happened. He had never experienced so many surprises in his life, as he had in the last few hours in Clint's company.

Thousands more of Rinon's armada parted around the _Blackbird_ as if water around a river stone. After the smallest of the crafts moved by, the larger frigates careened by. They were long, sleek creations of gold and silver. A sparkle of starlight, like a slate of diamonds, was painted along their sides and curled up and back into their command centers. The greatest of them hovered at _Blackbird_'s side. Four silhouettes of dire wolves ran in a pack along the bottom of the ship, fading into the open jaws of a antlered tiger. Rinon's faralir. Its jaws opened wide over the bow, ready to swallow in whatever might dare to come against it. Clint had no doubt Rinon was somewhere inside the creation, standing at its helm with all the sovereignty of a warrior king.

"When did Alfheimr do this?" Clint asked no one in particular. He thought about the Elf he helped carry, how he asked if Rinon had arrived to save them. Did Alfheimr have this all along? Were they helping because they had already taken these steps themselves? Alfheimr was a race of peace and understanding. They never went to war unless they lent support to Asgard's peacekeeping of the Nine Realms. It was well understood they were a mighty race, but such muscles hadn't been stretched directly since the days that the Dark Elves were exiled to Svartalfhem, over seven thousand years prior. Only years ago, Clint remember Rinon and his people quaking at the idea that war might spring between their people and Asgard. Back then, their opinion was that Alfheimr would surely be destroyed. Seeing this, Clint couldn't understand why that thought would ever cross their mind. The thousands of ships cruising over and under Clint's own, didn't compare to the massive wave that appeared on the broadside of the Kree line. Rinon's Elves had distracted everyone with the direct forward advance while all this time the actual bulk of his armada sneaked into the left of the Kree's formation. All at once this second, mightier, force revealed themselves and cut through the Kree ships like sharks would decimate a school of fish. As large as the Alfheimr ships were, they retained an incredible speed that the Kree couldn't even dream of matching.

The tables were now turned. Facing a force that vastly outnumbered and out-manned their own, the Kree took the only option left to them. What ships could still function, jumped to lightspeed. Some were so desperate in their attempt to escape, they didn't wait for a proper targeting computer to set a course. The Kree began crashing into one another. Their formation split in half, the war-birds collided. Internal cargo, men, and munitions spilled into space. The Alfheimr crafts destroyed what little remained, until nothing but a sky of space trash endured.

The _Gateway_, with its Alfheimr escort and shield in place, turned from the destruction that should have been its own fate, and joined Clint's ship waiting a safe distance off. Clint didn't have to imagine what celebrations were going on between the friends he had aboard.

* * *

Holy Cow, who saw that one coming?

If you can't tell, I have such a soft spot for Elves. What will happen next? Where did Alfheimr get this power? What is Tony going to think about Clint running off? Stay tuned!

Please let me know what you think!


	11. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The three-pronged landing struts of the _Blackbird_ touched down in the _Gateway_'s hanger bay. There was plenty of room to choose from, the entire fleet had been evacuated so they might defend the ship and the city below. Clint found one of the more difficult places to unload, set the ship down, and accessed the hanger bay door. The safety harness fell away from his shoulders and, for a time, he just sat in the co-pilot's seat and let himself relax. He could feel Loki's eyes boring into him.

"Stop giving me that look." Clint said.

"I am trying to determine whether or not you intend to walk off of this death trap of a ship, or if you plan to be carried; Of which, I am not lending my aid."

Clint snorted. He had a hold full of Elves he had to help unload, a king suffering from a potentially life threatening injury, he was bleeding, and most likely the ship fires on the _Gateway_ required assistance. None of that could be done by sitting on the _Blackbird_. Clint shoved himself to his feet. Loki already stood by the open cockpit door and waited for him. Clint's hands were shaking.

"Adrenaline." He said before Loki brought it up. Clint passed ahead of him and entered the back of the cabin. The Elves who could walk had already evacuated the back of the ship. Those who couldn't, were being assisted by their compatriots. Haladarrel himself had already been whisked away. Some saw Clint's approach, and suddenly straightened quite tall. Their normal height of over six feet swelled only higher. It was an Elven sign of anxiety. Linnor stood at the bottom of the landing, but came up again at once when he caught sight of Clint. He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't seem to manage it at first. He swallowed.

"Ackarae," Linnor paused, then began again. "It does not befit me to continue to call you simply _archer_. It is impersonal to a station that you have elevated to. Hawkeye, in the Elven tongue, is Rellya. Would you object to it?"

_Always formalities,_ Clint thought. He wondered what was so wrong with his own name that no one in the Nine Realms could find the heart to use it consistently. "No, Linnor, I wouldn't mind that."

Linnor seemed relieved. "Rellya, my people owe you a great debt for what you have risked in our rescue." He stepped forward, the Elves around him watching the exchange in the gravest support of his actions. Linnor extended a hand in the typical human handshake he had been introduced to. "Thank you, is not enough to express our gratitude."

Clint accepted Linnor's hand. To refuse it, would insult him gravely. "I think my people would say the same thing of Alfheimr. I will thank Rinon when I see him for the support he has given us today."

Linnor didn't release his hand at first. He continued to press, the emotion he tried to hide failed to remain beneath his skin. "Thank you for my life. For my brother, Faraday. For Grenya and Trili and everyone else. Thank you for not abandoning us, and for rescuing our king. I owe you, not just my life, but my heritage. Faraday and I are all that remains of our kin."

Barton was too tired, too shaken by everything that happened to really absorb the depth of Linnor's appreciation. He accepted it regardless, and nodded a little to the other Elves who obviously supported Linnor's firm opinion. Clint never did like to be the center of attention. He tried to move forward and down the ramp with Loki trailing behind, but another fit of dizziness smacked into him. The room began to spin. His shaking hands reached out to steady his torso, and a set of arms grabbed him around the waist. A shock of pain thrust through him from the wound Clint neglected.

"Rellya!"

"Barton!"

Clint heard Linnor and Loki both call out to him. One of them shifted their grip, and he felt a torrent of blood dislodge down his pant leg. Strong arms held him steady while someone shouted for help. Clint forced his eyes open, and tried to swallow down the nausea his tossed-around skull created. When he did lift himself up, Loki's hovering form was torn very swiftly away. He watched as Tony Stark appeared, grabbed the off-guarded Frost Giant, and hurled him into the side of the ship's inner hull.

"What did you do to him!?" Tony roared.

"Tony!" Clint tried to call him off. Linnor sat at his back, with his hands pressed against Clint's bleeding side.

Stark turned fiercely, letting Loki drop back onto his feet again. "What were you thinking, Clint? Why did you take off on us like that?"

Clint might have responded, but Linnor beat him to it. "He has risked his life and saved our own. My people were trapped, and would have suffered death had he not refused to abandon us. He carried our king on his own shoulders to safety before being buried himself."

Tony listened to these revelations as his eyes never left the look he shared with Clint. He seemed to know the archer would be all right, and he wasn't surprised in the very least by what Linnor relayed.

"You've been busy." Tony said.

"You don't know the half of it." Clint replied.

A crew of medical personnel appeared up the ramp from where they helped tend the Elves. Seeing Clint bleeding on the floor, a few diverted to him. Tony leaned back, and allowed them better access.

Loki folded his arms. "You see, I had nothing at all to do with this."

:(:):(:):

"Your kidney is bleeding. Specifically, the left one. Congratulations, that's one I haven't seen before in your kidneys." Bruce set aside his report, and dragged the glasses off of his nose. He considered the patient unwillingly sitting in a bed of the medical quarter. One of the first real patients Bruce had enjoyed since opening the medical bay to customers. Clint, apparently, didn't appreciate the new crowning achievement.

"So, you're saying I'm in this bed for _how long_?"

"Technically speaking? Fourteen days. For you? I should say a month."

Clint scoffed, and tried to get out of bed.

To the side, Thor reached over and deposited him right back down . . . for the third time.

"Just because you can't feel the fact that you are bleeding internally doesn't mean that you aren't. It's not bad, I put a wrap on to help it clot and, while you were unconscious, I did a few other things to keep you alive that I'm sure you won't exactly appreciate the depth of. Now, do me a favor, clear out the peanut gallery. I don't mind a few people hanging around, but Clint, this is a little much, don't you think?" Bruce indicated the no less than three hundred Elves pressed in around his bedside. None of them spoke, or moved. They stayed, standing very straight and tall like statues, and watched all that happened with the keenest of interest. Beside their watchful gazes, Loki held up his own wall.

Thor addressed his brother first. "I have to say, this curious attention of yours has me baffled, brother. Since when have you cared so much over my friend?"

"I never said I cared over him at all." Loki replied.

"And yet, you piloted that ship with him. Found another, and escaped together. That is not the Loki I know, but it is the actions of a brother I once did. What has happened to you?" Thor continued to prod.

Loki's fingers balled into fists, though the likelihood of him striking out remained small. "Words such as that, never left my lips. To imply that I have found some sort of morality, is the words of a child holding onto a foolish dream!" Loki spun around, pushed his way through the crowd of Elves and left.

Thor lifted his eyebrow at Clint. "What _have_ you done to him?"

"He's _your_ weird brother. _You_ take care of him. He keeps following me around." Clint replied. To the rest of the Elves waiting around, he said, "You all heard. I'm going to be fine. Bruce gets a little twitchy in crowds, if you know what I mean. Go on, I'm all right. Maybe someone can bring Natasha by, too."

As a single body, the Alfheimr nation filed away together. Only Bruce, Clint, and Thor remained.

"Did everyone else make it out all right?" Clint asked.

"Steve wanted off the bridge, but he ended up trapped there. Tony nearly broke an arm. I went through a window. Apparently the Hulk can survive in open space. He enjoyed smashing a few Kree ships together. Natasha's all right. The cut wasn't bad, but it bled enough to give her a little shock." Bruce went down the list, reporting on all the friends Clint had in life. When it came to Haladarrel, however, his expression changed. He moved to Clint's side, set himself down on the edge of the bed, and sighed.

"Hal's in a bad way, Clint."

"How bad?" Clint asked in disbelief. He saw Haladarrel dragged into the ship, the blood covering his face and arms. There was so much wrong with him, but as an Elf, he couldn't have imagined this. The species was as strong as Asgardians, and more noble than any race. He'd never been to a funeral or knew of one, beside the civil war between the Southern and Northern Elves twelve years before. Clint had been introduced to Haladarrel then. For some reason he never knew, C;int was stolen off of a mission in Germany, and dragged through the Bifrost with Tony and Steve. The three of them were thrown into the midst of an onslaught. Clint took an arrow from a Southling Elf through his shoulder. It was laced with a deadly venom, and in two days, he nearly died from it. King Rinon, the regent at the time, sent his best scouts into all of Alfheimr to find Clint. Haladarrel got to him first. He spent an entire night helping Clint breathe. He rushed Barton to an uncle, and another former regent of Alfheimr they knew as Doodle. A battle broke out at Doodle's tree home, and even then, Rinon came riding to their rescue, sparing their lives. The Southlings were hunted down and exiled, their leader disappeared into the great Woodrenkell forest, never to be uncovered again. He'd been struck himself with the same venom that nearly killed Clint.

Haladarrel survived the sprint through the forest, encountering the Southling force on his own, falling from hundreds of feet up, and the final battle. He threw caution aside to ensure Clint's survival, and Barton always felt a kinship to the Elf for that sacrifice. If Clint died then on Alfheimr, so soon after the murder of Queen Frigga by the Dark Elves, all of Asgard would have fallen on Rinon and his people. Alfheimr quaked at the very notion of it. When the fighting ceased, Thor and Rinon spoke about all of the events that happened. They agreed that, for as long as Thor lived, a truce would exist between the two races. Rinon pressed the issue that for Clint to have even been placed in harm's way at all, some traitor on Asgard must have ordered it. For years they searched out the guilty party, but nothing was ever solidified in stone. During that search, they discovered Loki had overthrown Odin and taken his adoptive father's place. When exactly the switch occurred, they didn't know. Some speculated it was he who caused the tensions on Alfheimr though he denied it.

It was difficult to believe that, after all they had been through, Haladarrel may not survive the onslaught by the Kree.

"I'm sorry, Clint."

"Does Rinon know?" Thor asked gently.

"He's here already sitting with him. They've sent a message to the queen to bring her here. I'm not sure he'll have enough time for her to arrive."

"That dire?" Thor whispered, absorbing it all.

Clint tried to stand again, Thor automatically kept him down.

"I want to see him!" Clint cried. "I'm not going to sit here and let you tell me he could be dead in a few hours, and not go see him!"

"I know, Clint, and I figured that. We'll bring you to him. All right? Besides, he's already asked for you. He's just next door." Bruce nodded at Thor, and the two gently eased Clint out of bed.

Knowing he planned to make a run for it later, Barton allowed them to carry him off now. At least he was good at pretending to be cooperative. Whether he fooled Bruce or not, remained to be seen. They passed through the adjoining door together, and arrived in a new room that Clint didn't recognize. When he entered a place for the first time, he made it a point to comb through every inch of the area and develop a lay of the land. Should emergencies arise, he would know a thousand ways to get around. He thought he'd seen every inch of the medical bay, but apparently he didn't.

There were surprisingly few Elves in the room. Only Reylano, a few of his fellow elders, and Rinon stood watch around about the king. Reylano and his compatriots sat on the floor in a small cluster by the end of the bed. Some of them sang an unfamiliar, beautiful, Elven song. Rinon stayed by his fellow king's side. His hand remained on the exposed flesh on Haladarrel's arm. He heard the entrance of the others and lifted from his position. Rinon inclined his head at Clint. "My friend."

"Don't let me move you." Clint replied. Bruce and Thor helped him forward, and Rinon abandoned his seat for the archer.

"I do not mind. You have given me this time by his side. It is right that I should return some again to you." Rinon said. He retreated from the bedside with Thor and Banner. He sent a little motion to the others, and the Elven song came to a close. The Elves stood and left through the main door together. Clint and Haladarrel were left alone.

Someone took the time to clean Haladarrel's face of the blood and grime that once overtook him, leaving the milky skin behind. His hair was black, paling toward its long ends in the way the king's hair would. It set him apart from the other Elves for none beside a male royal had the white hair to show. Given a few more decades on the throne, Haladarrel's hair might have been as white as Rinon. Now, that time would never come. Unlike other patients in Bruce's care, Haladarrel had no lines of fluids, attachments to machines, or any of those other elements a dying man may possess. Elves didn't like to prolong death when there was nothing to be done. If Rinon thought, or had any inclination, that bringing Haladarrel to another realm might save him then he would have been gone already. Elves bodies might have been infused with all the strength of an Asgardian, but they were also fragile creatures. A wound may take months or years to heal. A shotgun wound that Clint might survive, placed over an Elf's chest might always prove fatal. In this case, Haladarrel's entire side had been crushed beneath half a ton of concrete. No medical intervention in the world would be enough to spare his life. Seeing something as hopeless was never easy for Clint.

In the silence left when the singing stopped, Haladarrel opened his eyes. They'd been a different color once, but like his hair, they too lightened. He smiled a little when he saw Clint. "If it is not my troublesome fellow." He said.

"Le suilon." _I greet you_, Clint replied.

"Me en pedhelen gereletri." _I forget your talent in Elvish_. Haladarrel whispered.

"Metri mi anesthru." _I should have come sooner._

"And been buried among my people? No." Haladarrel replied in basic. "No. No, your warning saved us without sacrificing your own life."

"I'm sorry."

Hal might have lifted his hand, placed it over Clint's in a way to reassure him, but his fingers lay beneath the cover of his blanket. There, the fact that they'd been smashed beyond recognition, went unseen by his visitors. Clint waited for him to catch his breath again. He could tell attempting to speak was taking a considerable effort.

"I should let the others back in." Clint tried to say, but a little protestation stopped him.

"No, it's all right. I – " Hal closed his eyes and winced. His teeth came together, and a hiss escaped his tight lips. Clint set a hand on his arm the way he'd seen Rinon do, and it seemed to help for a moment. After a time, the moonlight irises appeared beneath their shades. "My queen – "

"I'll see to her, I give my word. But you won't need it, because you are going to live to see her. Don't listen to them, they're just doctors. What do they know? Look at me; how many times did I cheat death, huh? I was dying just last year, and I'm still here. We can do something. We can fix this!"

"Some things cannot be fixed with words and hope. You've saved my men, their allegiance they pledge to you, ackarae. Oh, forgive me, Rellya."

Clint gave him a sad smile. The longer he spent around other realms and races, the more names he had to keep up with. "I don't want their allegiance, I have plenty of that. I want them to do something. Hal, you kept me breathing through my worst days. Why can't I do something for you now?"

Haladarrel kept silent while he contemplated his thoughts. He was a young Elf, not even a thousand years yet. He was also a young king. His reign was the shortest in all of Alfheimr's history. His queen, would take over in his stead and she deserved the opportunity to lead her realm. Not having an chance to share that future with her cut deep into his heart. Doodle, his only living kin and a former regent himself, would be mortified to hear of Haladarrel's death. Knowing that brought him more pain then the fire of his wounds. "We are made strong so that we might survive longer. When our bodies fail us, there is little we might do to save it." Haladarrel said. "I am sorry."

"Sorry," Clint pulled his hand away and hung his head. Haladarrel never ceased to surprise him. "You're the one lying there, and _you're_ sorry."

"I should have acted sooner. Brought the fleet faster. Changed a thousand things that now I regret." Hal shifted, gasped. Clint shook his head furiously at him.

"Don't say that! It's not Alfheimr's job to bail us out. We should have known about the Kree, prepared more, done more. This was our fault, not yours."

"The Dark Elves' technology – "

"Left to be scavenged by Asgard and us. We should have done something."

"Rinon knew it, not I. He has always known." Hal leaned his head back, gasping as he breathed. Clint tried to get him to stop, but Haladarrel kept on. "Did I not say what sort of Elf my predecessor is?"

There were many sorts of Elven clans in the realm of Light Elves. There were the banished Southlings, Outer and Inner Glencove, Skydale, Blueskin Mountains, Woodrenkell, Earthenden, Blanklands, and Lakeheed. Each clan had their own ability to communicate with the natural world at their fingertips. Outer Glencove Elves, like Haladarrel, worked on the waters of the sea. They could speak to the wind and manipulate it like one might form clay from the earth. It was that ability which helped Clint live. The Elves that went to Vanaheim were mainly from Blanklands, as they were masons and builders of the greatest degree.

"No, you never said where Rinon came from." Clint said sadly.

"He came to Lakeheed a thousand years ago from the peaks of the mountains. He lived in isolation there, a student of many great things. He tired of his solitude, and came to the kingdom's court to seek something more."

Clint sat and listened as Haladarrel told him the story of Rinon's past. It took him many pauses and long minutes to form the words he wanted to speak, but Clint waited patiently to hear them.

"He is not a mason, or an air talker, or even a wood maker. Rinon sees." Haladarrel whispered. "Things no other could possibly imagine. So much, it takes his very voice away. He saw that, one day, Alfheimr would need a fleet, and ever since that day where you and I first met, he has left the throne to prepare for it."

"Wh – Wait, what? He knew this would happen?" Clint asked, stunned.

"What Rinon knows, no man may understand. Yet here he is. He left the throne to me, so that he could see his armada built, to preserve all of Alfheimr. I fear - him. I . . . I fear-"

Clint thought about Steve. The captain was stretched thin between commanding the army, training the fleet, building the ships, sending men through portals, and all those other necessities that came with being at the helm of a raging war. Rinon might have found himself in the same position had he not turned over the throne to Haladarrel instead. Clint knew there must have been a reason a king such as he would have given up his throne so swiftly. He left the ruling to become a general. Clint didn't understand how or why he'd done it. If Rinon knew what was coming before the Sarhorn did, why wasn't that information shared? Why had he kept it private?

"Hal, what does Rinon know?" Clint asked.

"I've missed our time together." Haladarrel said unexpectedly. "You were the most troublesome man I have ever known."

Something changed. Clint felt it in the air like a vapor or mist. A cold chill rushed up his arms with a dread to follow. He clambered to his feet, and a rush of dizziness nearly threw him to the floor. He grabbed the wall for support, hit the key on the door, and opened it to the men waiting outside.

"Something's happening!" He exclaimed, leaning away so they could enter.

The Alfheimr leaders came first, filing in to surround Haladarrel's bed. Thor and Bruce took a step inside, but came no further. Thor didn't speak. Bruce slipped against Clint's side to help keep him up. Rinon alone came last. His eyes were a pale pearl, like lavender jewels. He dressed like a soldier in intricate leather tooled in gold and clasps of Elven silver. A silent, knowing look passed between them, as if somehow all this time, Rinon had listened to the story Haladarrel shared. He slipped inside and returned to his place by Haladarrel again.

Bruce whispered, "Did I miss something there?"

"Take me out." Clint said.

"Are you sure?"

Behind him, the Elven songs began again, singing their king to his final rest.

"This is their place, not mine."

:(:):(:):

" 'Love is for children. I owe him a debt.' I believe those were your exact words at the time." Loki said, leaning on the wall across from the window.

"It was true." Natasha muttered back. "I thought you were going to let him kill me. 'Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows I fear.' "

Loki smiled, shifting his shoulders in delight. "Oh, that was quite clever. I hadn't even rehearsed."

"And look who got thrown into an Asgardian prison. Not me."

"I wasn't there for long, and therefore it does not count."

"Escaping the prison doesn't mean you weren't ever in it."

"Of course it does, otherwise, what is half the fun of getting arrested at all?" He watched as Clint was brought back to bed. Tony had arrived to wait for him and took up a chair, propping his feet up beside Clint's. Bruce had already left to be at Haladarrel's call should he be needed.

"It's midnight, shouldn't you be off sucking someone's blood?"

"Being devilishly handsome does not make one a vampire." Loki pointed out, "You haven't even spoken to him."

A famous death glare zeroed in on the side of Loki's face. He flushed a little blue under the weight of it. "His friend is dying. What am I supposed to say?"

"Oh . . . I don't know. I'm usually the one killing people."

"Why are you even here?!" She exclaimed. "Seriously, explain that to me. It isn't some misguided hope that this is all going to work itself out. You don't care about Clint at all. You care even less about anyone who isn't yourself. So what is it then? What are you hoping to get, by being here?"

"Well, you did say it. I care of little beyond my own skin, and I will not refute it. If that means I will survive these years by sticking to someone who I know will do the same, then I will swallow what pride I must, and subject myself to enduring his existence."

"You're looking for something." Natasha said suddenly.

"I am not!" Loki refuted.

"What is it?"

"If I were in need of discovering anything, then the last place I would expect to find it is here." Loki replied smoothly. Before he had the chance of being trapped in another one of her incredibly astute deductions, he beat a hasty retreat back the way he had come.

Natasha watched as the Frost Giant stole away back to whatever hole he found for himself on the ship. She didn't like him staying so close to Barton. Firstly, he never brought good news with him. Trouble clung to his coat sleeves the same way it did to Clint. Having the two of them together was a sure fire road to a dangerous path. Loki also had his own ulterior motive, whether they knew what that may be or not. Finished with her prodding for now, Natasha went into the medical room. She smiled at her husband.

"Mr. Romanov." She said coyly.

Tony snorted.

"You're the one who became Mr. Potts, so you get no sympathy from the peanut gallery." Clint said, putting an end to Tony's laughter.

Natasha climbed into bed beside Clint. "Loki wants something from you."

"Didn't you figure it out yet?" Clint asked.

"Not yet, but give me a little time."

"I thought you really nailed him out there. His face turned blue." Tony said, flipping through pages on his digital notepad. He took out a stylus, and made a few corrections before moving on to the next endless lines of equations.

"Not quite. He's keeping his cards close, this time." She reported.

Clint shrugged. "I'll leave that to you. Any word from the Kree after the attack?"

"Nope." Tony said.

"None at all?"

Tony lowered his screen. "No, as in, no we aren't talking about that. I've been up on that bridge since the minute those blue-skinned traitors caught us with our pants down. I've been flying around in space with Thor for the past few hours, and even had the Hulk out there too. Who knew he could survive that? I didn't until I saw Bruce get sucked out a wall. So, no, we are going to talk about something else for the next few hours and give me a chance to work out these equations Pym's been screwing up."

Clint appeared hurt. Tony had worked endless hours on his scientific contribution to the mission at hand. His ship, the Bethlehem Star, was supposed to be retrofitted as the containment vessel for Galactus. His energy would be funneled into a consistent loop, causing the creature to feed on himself for the rest of time. None of it worked without Tony's scientific research. "Aww, Hank messed up all that hard work?"

"In only the most frustrating of ways. How hard is it to recopy a thousand high math symbols from an alien race who has since decided to never speak to me again?" Tony scrubbed a hand over the stubble on his face. Whether he admitted to it or not, he was looking for any excuse to ignore all that had just occurred. Clint requested the casualty lists. He saw the names of friends and loved ones who would never even see the Great War still to come. There were calls he had to make to their families back home, and explanations to give. That could wait.

Natasha interlaced her fingers with Clint's. Only a wall away, he could hear the Elven songs rising in the air. They sang their king's great victories, his gentleness, and his love. Clint closed his eyes and imagined those love songs fading through him with the mist of Haladarrel's detaching soul. Clint thought about Rinon waiting by his successor's side, and feeling the weight of all that had occurred fall on his shoulders. The Elf would never voice his opinions, but Clint seemed to feel it in his bones. Rinon blamed himself. Had he still been regent, he would have been in Haladarrel's place. Did he feel that as keenly as the others? If Haladarrel was right and Rinon saw this all coming, did he also anticipate Haladarrel's looming death?

"How long until Arahaelel arrives?" Clint asked no one in particular.

"Should be here already. I thought I saw her on my way over." Tony said, setting his equations aside. "Is it true that he's not going to make it?"

Clint nodded a little. He squeezed Natasha's hand. His minimal response was enough for Tony to understand the truth of the matter. He'd watched as Clint's ship entered the docking bay, and had hurried to get down there and meet him. He never expected to encounter the hundreds of Elves pouring out of the hull, half of which were nearly charred to death in whatever fires they just barely managed to escape. His heart had thudded in his chest as he rushed closer. Then he saw them carrying Haladarrel away, and he'd stopped breathing. Tony had difficulty recognizing the king at first. He'd been covered in ash and blood, his entire chest caved in on one side as if a thousand pound slab had come down to bisect him. Tony had mounted the ship, looking desperately around for Clint. Seeing Barton in Loki's hands, with the blood covering the floor . . .

"I thought he'd killed you." Tony admitted.

"I know you did." Clint replied.

"You can't trust him."

"I know that, too. And I'm not. But all of us are safer if he stays with me. Peter needs help looking for the Infinity Gauntlet. I'm thinking about going to do that."

"Probably what Loki's hoping for." Natasha added in.

"A chance to control the Infinity Gauntlet?" Tony asked, considering it.

"Valid." Clint said.

"You trust him to stick with you then? What if Star-Dork and you actually find it, and Loki decides to run off with it?" Tony said.

"I don't trust him, we will find it, and I can handle Loki."

Natasha was surprised by his cocksure attitude over the matter. He had an illustrious history with Thor's brother. Clint and Loki met for the first time only in passing. Clint was dispensed to New Mexico when Thor first came up on SHIELD's radar. Loki, at the time commanded the Destroyer armor, a defense machine that leveled a small town. The next time they met, Loki used an Infinity Stone-infused staff to control Clint's mind and body. Barton spent a week out of SHIELD hands in Loki's service. Coming back from that, he was never the same man again. Later Clint and Loki faced off again in a one-on-one battle that went down in history as the greatest fight in all the Nine Realms. Defending Thor's life, Clint found the will to lift the hammer Mjolnir and, with it, proceeded to bash Loki into submission. In respect for Clint's ability, Odin gave him the Sleiphner Bow. Later still, Clint met up, and even teamed up, with Loki. An invasion, manipulated by the hand of an Asgardian woman known as the Enchantress, urged a temporary alliance between the two mortal enemies. Natasha remembered them fighting side-by-side so vividly. She'd been Clint's partner for nearly two dozen years, but watching him fight beside the Frost Giant brought a different sort of man out of him. One could tell they had a history, one they may have hidden from the entire world.

"Is there something we need to know?" Tony asked, considering the same history as the others.

"You? No. It's – " Clint stopped. He could hear the increase in tempo from the elven songs, but he could feel the change too. Tony slid to his feet, his tablet fell off his lap to clatter on the floor. A cold wind passed over their faces, leaving a chill behind that shouldn't exist in a vacuum sealed, and heavily regulated, artificial environment. The spots of exposed skin on Clint's face prickled. The hairs rose on the back of his neck. Without having to ask, they knew that Haladarrel was dead. Before the news could fully sink in, the door across from them slid open. Surprisingly, Rinon himself stood in the doorway. His face was taut and serious. Why he had come at such a time as this? They assumed, as any rational being would, that Rinon must stay at the departed king's side. Clint sat up a little more, though Rinon extended a hand to stop him.

"Fel leselli." _Good health to you_, Clint said.

"May we speak?" Rinon asked.

"Of course, if you want." Clint glanced at the dividing wall where, just next door, the songs began to slide into a depressed crescendo. The grieving had begun. The notes rose and fell in the quiet of the halls. The entire ship seemed to understand the depths of what occurred, and a mighty stillness overcame it. Rinon didn't show the signs of grief that Clint had seen so often in the past with Elven friends. He was simply tired.

"Tasha, Tony, give us a minute?" Clint asked, sensing whatever Rinon had to say he wished to keep between them alone. The others understood that too. They approached Rinon, and offered what quiet condolences they could manage, and together slipped outside.

* * *

WHAT? WHAT! Haladarrel Dead?! WHAT!

I'm so sorry. I liked him too.

What is Rinon going to say? What is possibly going to happen? Stay tuned!

Please review!


	12. Chapter 10

**thank you all for the wonderful ongoing reviews!**

for the last chapter, thanks to: discordchick, Ms. Hawkeye, and my lovely guest...oh who can you be? :)

* * *

**Chapter 10**

The window into the treatment room faded black with its internal shades cascading down. Clint scooted back in the bed to rest his back against the wall. He motioned to the chair Tony left abandoned. Rinon considered it for a moment with his lavender eyes, then lowered himself down.

"Kinme gohen em le eteni wa'alu." _I'm sorry for the loss of your king_, Clint told him.

Rinon inclined his head, and turned his body slightly to one side. It was an elven sign of acceptance.

"Me'fu e a'nae." _I don't want to keep you._

"Aralahael takes my place, he is not alone." Rinon replied in Basic. "I know you must soon go, and I wished to speak alone before then."

Clint wondered if his room had been wired for sound. The only ones with any idea of his deciding to leave were Tony and Natasha. He remembered what Haladarrel warned him of Rinon's ability, though. Maybe it was time to probe for more. "How did you know that?"

Rinon didn't say.

"Is Fehreh here?"

"She does not know I've come."

Clint adjusted again, trying to keep a pillow stuffed in the small of his back where his bleeding kidney worked to form a clot. He wasn't sure what caused the majority of the damage. It could have been Loki throwing him around the bridge, or the plane crash where he woke up bleeding, even getting buried alive. The _Gateway_ had been fitted with enough alien technology to make his recovery a swift one. Unfortunately, Haladarrel did not benefit from the same.

Rinon sat with his elbows on his knees, and his head cradled in his palms. His long white hair cascaded down the sides of his face with the occasional braid woven through. He displayed little of the behavior of an Elf in agitation or concern. In fact, he slumped right over like a man who had spent a twenty-four hour shift in an emergency hospital and just now had a chance to get off his feet.

"I am sorry for this loss." Rinon said, rubbing the buttercream colored eyebrows with his thumbs. "Aralahael was my steward, and more than capable to rule alone. I wish there was some way that I might have spared her the torture."

Clint waited. It was an old interrogation technique he'd picked up. Generally, the best way to get information was to not ask for it. Rinon never spoke so many words all at once willingly, without his wife taking over in the midst. Barton only had to be patient to understand why he'd come at all.

"I understand that Haladarrel has spoken of my gift to you. It is something few know of, and none of them live beyond our realm. He thought very highly of you."

"I wish there was something I could have done." Clint admitted, still feeling out the information.

"I know that, keenly. He-re befae e`l. Áva sorya. Wotek e quifli." _Be consoled. And do not dread. I have grieved (his) death already._

Clint took a moment to filter through the Elvish and understand the hidden meaning behind the words. Just as Clint gave Rinon time to formulate a response, Rinon held a similar patience.

"You knew?" Clint suddenly came to.

The lavender pools closed for a moment, and when they fixed again on Clint, Rinon's body language altered. He drew in a breath, sat back and crossed his legs. This was a form of Rinon Clint had never met. "I know of no other who can see the things I see. I do not control them, and I know nothing of when they come. I have tried," he leaned forward, his hand extended as the memory crossed his mind. "How desperately I have tried in my past to change those tragedies I witness come. Understand, I was not always a Mountain Elf. I have seen fourteen hundred years. The beginning of my life was spent in Skydale."

This didn't make sense to Clint. Skydale Elves, or at least all those he knew of, had nothing to do with visions or predictions. They were wind talkers, able to command the air and water as if they were living forms. "Skydale? Your parents?"

"I never knew them."

Another bizarre revelation. Family meant everything to an Elf. So few had the ability to bear children at all, but having no kin of any kind was especially rare. What might have happened to an Elven mother and father to cause them to give up a child?

"Never?"

"I was found by Yhalel Oversea, an elder Elf and his ward, an Earthenden who was called Loore Highchild. They raised me in their lodge on the borders of our Northern Sea. Within the first few years of my life, I discovered the peculiarity of my gift, and they thought it better I not share such things. I grew to agree in time. The first death I witnessed was that of Yhalel. He was a Pedelni Elohen." _An Elf of no compare (an expression used in tenderness and respect_).

"What happened?"

"We lived in an old stone outlook of the sea. In my twentieth year, I saw the home crumble before my eyes. Yhalel was trapped within, and the great stones sank against him. He drowned in the sea. I was terribly disturbed by the idea, and ran for our home only to find it intact. I told Yhalel of my fears, and at first they were dispelled. In my twenty-seventh year, Yhalel lost his life in the manner I had witnessed."

"That must have been horrible for you." Clint whispered.

"I plagued myself in fears and a cloud of doubt. Loore attempted to ease these, but I was not the Elf then that you see now. We left Skydale for the sake of my grief, and settled in the mountains."

The Elf sitting across from him was no one that Clint knew. He was very familiar with Rinon the king, this new Elf he had never met. He spoke, at length. He commanded an armada, not just teams of men. The fear of Asgard invading his home was absent. This Rinon was a general.

It took Clint some time to decide why Haladarrel had trusted him with something that obviously the Elven regency kept so private. Rinon's revelation helped him better understand Haladarrel's confidence. Clint thought he'd had quite enough of riddles, predictions, and the layout of his future. Rinon, though, brought him pause. Clint had never heard the Sarhorn's words himself. In fact, he'd never even met the creature. He relied completely on the opinion of his friends, which he trusted, but there remained a lingering wonder over the truth. It was entirely likely that Rinon knew this too.

"Could you have stopped what happened to your mentor? You knew what was going to happen. You saw how. If you had tried, could you have stopped it from happening?" Clint asked.

A long silence grew between them while Rinon considered his answer carefully. The Elven songs continued, their tempo mixing with other passengers on the ship that drew close to the room. It added a ghostly quality to the conversation they shared.

"Loore and I spent three hundred years in the mountain country. In that time, I witnessed a great many things I could never explain. In our first years, we learned my gift together, and yes, I spent much of the time attempting to prevent the losses I witnessed. Especially after seeing Loore's coming death."

"You saw that too?"

A sad smile spread over Rinon's face. Unable to sit, he stood and clasped his hands behind his back. "I reached my hundred and third year. I saw that Loore would find his ie-koh; his soulmate, I believe you call it."

Clint nodded.

"She found us by chance in a smaller village on our lonely peak, and Loore swept himself up in the sight of her. I knew he would be happy. I'd seen that too. She was an Outer Glencove Elf, like Loore, before he followed Yhalel to Skydale. After courting her, he decided it was time to ask for her hand. I traveled with him to her clan to support the decision and give him a reference to her father. During that journey, I learned how they both should die."

"That must have been very hard." Clint said.

"It was. I understood by this point that the things I saw may happen at any time. I only have vague understanding of when they might occur, but elves do live for quite a while. I thought, perhaps, I could prevent what might befall them. I pledged myself to their servitude. I spent another hundred years in the mountains, at their call. Three times, the events I had witnessed in my mind's eye occurred. Each time, I had rescued them from their sure deaths. I thought, and truly believed, my presence had at last prevented the demise I knew they had coming. I even revealed these facts to Loore. He was much less certain than I. We quarreled over it. He feared for his life, for he knew what I could do, and more than that, he feared for his family. His ie-koh just had a child. Loore began to fear our mountain, and life itself. I am not sure what drove him away. Fear of death, or fear of me. He took his family early one morning when I had gone down into the towns, and never planned to return. When I learned of it, I followed him, naturally, and found they had been caught at the base of the valley in a storm."

Clint could tell by the tone that the couple had died. He felt horrible for Rinon. The only people in his young life who supported him were killed in terrible ways, and more so, Rinon had no way to prevent it. He was forced to watch tragedy after tragedy, and never found a way to stop it.

"Their child lived, by some miracle. I found him on the bank of the swollen river that drowned his parents, and I lifted him from the brambles. Loore named him Haladarrel. I named him Bywater. I knew Loore's family in Outer Glencove, and as I had no hand in the rearing of children, I brought him there."

"Hal? You're serious?" Clint exclaimed.

"That is a talent I have an abundance of." Rinon replied. "I'd spent my entire life among the two friends who raised me. Three hundred years of studying a way to stop the misfortunes I would see in those around me. I became bitter from it all. I vowed to remain silent as to my gifts to spare others the pain and fear it caused. Where some may have returned to a life of solitude, the mountains were too silent for me any longer. We are a naturally social race, despite the hermits you often come across."

Rinon referred to their mutual friend, Doodle. He was an ancestor of Haladarrel, and former king himself during the days when the Dark Elves were thrust out of Alfheimr. After his term, Doodle retreated to the ancient forest in Woodrenkell where he spent his days as a naturalist. He had endless catalogs of trees, flowers, insects, and more.

"How did you end up in Lakeheed?"

"Odin was in the midst of another war, the last we hoped, with Jotunheim. Alfheimr pledged Elves to his aid, as our friendship allowed. I volunteered then and went to war. I have never seen my own death. I know how I will lose my wife. I know what will fell Thor, Odin, and every Elf in my company. In my low moments, I considered that a death on the battlefields would be preferable to living with my gift. If I could not change the results, then my not living to see them would cause no difference either. I had a talent for our work in Jotunheim. I fought beside Reylano. He became a friend despite my best efforts to repel him. It was he who first pointed out my melancholy. I threw myself into our work there, determined to find a happiness I could not attain on my own. I came upon Odin rather suddenly in battle in an unfortunate time. He was set upon by Laufey and a few dozen Frost Giants. He was cut off from his men and blinded in one eye. I nearly died throwing myself in Odin's way to prevent a Frost Giant taking his life. He was forever grateful for it. They feared I would not survive my injuries and Odin brought me to Alfheimr personally. There my renown had grown despite myself."

"Odin trusted you. That doesn't come easy for him. I'm sure he told everyone he could find about what you did." Clint said.

"Very true. While I recovered, I was unable to leave the palace in Lakeheed for nearly a year. My history prevented me from sharing the depths of my unhappiness with anyone. I worked singularly in the queen's service, and I was admirable in that. Fehreh worked in the kitchen then. Finding her, who I had seen already would become my ie-koh, I was terribly saddened. I have felt the pain her loss will bring me, and I set out to prevent her ever getting close to me. I failed miserably in that task, as you might know."

Clint smiled. "She's really wonderful."

"I know it. I felt it unfair to keep from her all parts of myself. She does know what I can see. I never speak to her of the images themselves, but she does know when they come. When I became king, having her at my side was a blessing to all. I never wished to be in a position of such authority, but she helped me to excel in it. When that terrible business befell with the Southlings and your near murder on our lands, it affected me abundantly. I knew a great war was coming that would take many Elven lives. All at once, I thought that day had come at last. Had you lost your life in my land, our truce with Asgard . . ." Rinon's voice faded at the very thought of it.

"Odin would have blamed you despite his trust in you." Clint added for him. "The same way you never expected to get that much recognition for the things you've done, I never thought it myself. I'm just an archer from one of the weakest planets in the galaxy, and a self-taught carney boy at that. I never thought I'd be honored by Odin. Then, when the Enchantress came, and Odin and Thor both nearly died on the battlefield, I never thought I'd be the one inspiring Asgard back to the field to support them. We rise to the occasion when we need to. It's just our nature. Thor worried about how much Asgard sees me as a hero. Dying on Alfheimr would have been a declaration of war."

"One we would not have been prepared for." Rinon nodded. "I decided that Alfheimr should not quake at the thought of the war to come. We may have avoided it once, but I knew, wholly knew, that it was coming. We had to prepare for it. I had no idea then of the scope of what we must accomplish now."

"That's how you saved us today." Clint concluded. This is where the conversation headed. Rinon's ability to see what no other could, allowed him to prepare for a war long before anyone else had the warning from the Sarhorn. He only lacked a complete vision, the ability to know how all-encompassing this threat from Galactus was. He sent the Elves from Earthenden to assist in the Midgardian armada because they had already spent their time creating the Alfheimr one.

"Fehreh suspects I knew something of this, but she has ceased to prod any longer into the things I see. She knows the pain it causes me when I speak of such things." Rinon agreed.

"Why tell me this? Steve's the one heading things on Midgard's end. Odin is here for Asgard, and he's always been your ally. I'm, honestly, just one guy. I know a lot of people from a thousand different lands hang their hats on some of the things I've done in the past, but that's the truth." It was a question that weighed on Clint's heart since the first time he lifted Thor's immovable hammer. He literally fell into positions of glory everywhere he went. He knew that stunt on Vanaheim, running into a crumbling building and carrying out hundreds of Elves, would not go unnoticed either. Situations found him wherever he went.

Rinon paused at the end of Clint's bed. His fingers traced along the footrest as he considered his internal thoughts. His expression changed very little. It was like looking into the marble features of a Roman statue. His hair framed the sides of his face and the Elven raiment moved seamlessly along his body like a second skin. Clint wasn't sure how much time had passed between just the two of them. Given their duel abilities to be quiet and patient, it may take a full year before the conversation saw its final line being said.

"I came to that Midgardian hospital when I heard of your looming death last winter." The lavender pearls flicked upward to see how the news struck Barton. Surely Clint had been informed of the nearly one thousand souls who tended to his bedside. Clint had been diagnosed with cancer. It was aggressive, moved incredibly fast, and within months of his diagnosis, he suffered crippling pain and went suddenly blind. He landed in the hospital, flat on his back, and very near death from a stroke caused by a blood clot related to his cancer. That day, barely clinging to life, the Sarhorn arrived to spread the twenty predictions. It was M-Day. He saved Clint's life, healing him completely, but left more questions than answers when he departed.

"I don't remember much from that. I was sick for a few days after. Star-Lord caught me up when I felt well enough." Clint replied honestly.

"I pledged my assistance to finding these Sarhorns, my people have always called them Mal-ahk, so that they might be appealed to on your behalf just before the one came to see you directly. What seemed like minutes later, Peter Quill returned to us and explained all the warnings the Mal-ahk gave to him. I was not surprised, for I had seen it already."

"Because you already knew a war was coming?" Clint asked.

"Yes. And – " Rinon's fingers paled as they tightened on the footrest. He realized the tension in his hand and drew it behind his back again to hide the fact. He began to straighten, stiffen, and extend his neck with chin set and locked. His Elven mannerisms were winning out.

"Clint Barton, I have seen, forty-three years before now, a man such as yourself leap into an unforgiving sky and fall into a darkness that consumes him. I watched a world around him explode in shatters of light I never understood, and those colors expand into a sky before disappearing. That same sky was blacked out as if a storm encompassed its entire surface, snatching the very sand from its rocks. Then, when the man had gone into that chasm and the lights faded away, I watched that darkness fade too. I never understood the vision then, for that is often how it occurs, but the moment Peter Quill told us the details of what you are to do, I knew at once I had seen it. I have warred, and grieved bitterly over these things. Over whether I should keep the words back or speak them openly to you, for I know precisely the damage they have caused to my allies in the past. Not only with Loore and Yhalel, but others too numerous to count."

"It was me?" Clint asked, trying to keep the nervous anticipation from his voice. "You saw me jump. It's true, then?"

Rinon nodded very little. "I did not know you those years ago, and when I saw you at the banquet on Asgard, I paused before allowing our introduction."

"I remember that."

"I paused because I recognized you, from that vision. And in that moment, it revisited me a second time. The first time we met, I relived the thing that would be your death. I wished then to distance myself from you and what I saw would come. Then rather suddenly, you appeared on Alfheimr again through no fault of your own. It seemed no matter what I attempted, we were destined for this mad journey, and there is nothing – I know nothing – that can prevent its taking place."

_Full circle_, Clint thought. He, in a way, wasn't surprised. He had an inkling from the start Rinon might come back to that peculiar prediction that seemed to drive everyone's lives now, even his own. Especially his own. Maybe Haladarrel knew it, or Rinon confided that to him and that's why Haladarrel started this conversation between them. Rinon had to share his past, the linear effects of his life, for Clint to get the broad understanding of exactly what Rinon's visions meant to him. The Elf might not trust the words of a race he'd never met, but he understood keenly his own experience. Clint counted Rinon as one of the few friends he had in life. If the former king came to him with this, it was because Clint needed to hear it. Rinon wasn't wrong, either.

"Thank you. You might not understand how much, and maybe I didn't either at first, but it makes a big difference in my decisions now. Thank you." Clint said.

Rinon said nothing. Their conversation was one of marvelous interest. Many of Rinon's true characteristics, ones he had kept well hidden in his life, came through, creating a deeper alliance between them. Now that he had finished his speech, the momentary idiosyncrasies began to fall away. His alabaster wall rose again. Clint could see it in the old mannerisms that the Elf adopted to cope with his life. His hands returned to the front of him, he became as tall as a flagpole, and his shoulders pulled back. The vacant, indifference returned to the features of his face. He became, all at once, the old Rinon again. He became the Rinon who lived in the world, and yet shut himself out of it to guard his own sanity. The one who hardly spoke to prevent his accidentally saying something out of turn that might define a man's entire future. Fear, and a dose of mercy, kept him so very alone.

"What will you do now?" Clint asked.

Rinon's head raised, and considered the wall between them and the singing.

"You will take him back to Alfheimr?"

"Arahaelel will. Doodle must be told. It will be very difficult for him."

"And you will stay to look after us, should the Kree attempt a second attack?"

Rinon looked back at him and nodded.

"Thank you for doing that. We don't deserve this, your loyalty. There is nothing Midgard has ever done to reciprocate what Alfheimr has done for us today. So thank you, for all of us."

A ghost of a smile returned to the old king's face as he turned for the door. "It is not what you have done that grants our attention. It is what you will do. One day. I do not know when." He slipped away, as silently as a spirit, and joined his people again.

Leaning across the hall were Tony and Natasha. One of them had gone off and gotten a bite to eat. Seeing Rinon pass, they both stepped inside again and reclaimed their early abandoned positions around their friend. Natasha handed over something bar shaped, peanut butter smelling, and unwrapped. Tony set a glass of something dark on the end table. They didn't speak at first, allowing Clint the time he needed to absorb everything that occurred.

Tony took up his data and equations, using a little stylus to zoom in, turn things around, erase a few lines, and add the corrections. He was never happier these days than when he had something mathematically challenging to wrap his mind around. His sneakers stacked, one over the other, beside Clint's knees, and the chair leaned back on the two hind legs. Whether he knew it or not, Tony began to hum the repetitive tune of the Elven funeral song. The low, monotone chorus repeating even as others took over in different rhythms and verses.

Natasha played with the back of Clint's hand. She spun the ring on his finger, slipped it off, put it on her own, and felt the warmth of his body heat on the titanium. She liked the texture and feel of it. It was so new, without the wear pattern that would one day ease the inner polish away and fill in the clean edges of their names engraved together. She slipped it back on him and rested her head on his shoulder. Clint nearly laughed when he saw a few stray pieces of Christmas glitter still clinging to the strands. Heavy thoughts, though, and the very weight of the world kept him quiet.

Barton finished the food, taking it piece by piece and slowly chewing the protein bar down. He didn't remember when the last time he ate was.

Rinon had given him a considerable amount to think over. While he never openly doubted his friend's hearty belief in the Sarhorn, hearing the confirmation from Rinon affected him. Clint never understood how much until he tightened his hand around Natasha's and pressed his face against her hair.

"I love you." He whispered into the red, glittery locks.

Tony's attention sailed upward. He wasn't sure whether he heard Clint correctly. Natasha pulled away from him.

"Wow, was that the first L-word drop?" Tony asked.

"I'm not saying it back." Natasha stated, definitively.

"I'm not expecting you to."

Tony tucked his digital pad on his lap, the clear screen turned off. "What did Rinon say to you? You were in here for two hours."

"That long?" Clint asked.

"At least." Tony made a show of checking his wrist watch. "What happened in here?"

Clint considered coming clean. He didn't have any secrets, or at least not many, with the two people sitting with him. Tony's overall reaction to the future, though, gave him pause. As for Natasha, she preferred to never think of what might happen to them. Putting one more rock on that pile of hard stones in their life wouldn't do any good. Instead, he skirted the truth, something that got him into relentless trouble in the past.

"He told me about his history, how he met Haladarrel, and what drove him to making the armada."

"He said all that?! Like . . . he was actually talking that entire time? Did you record it?"

Clint snorted, winced, held his side, and adjusted himself on the bed. "I was as surprised as you."

"And that's all he said? For that long?"

The light flecks of turquoise being slowly overtaken by Clint's darkening blue eyes flickered at Tony. "Don't ask me any more than that."

* * *

What a revelation! What will Clint do now? What does this mean for their future? So many questions left unanswered!

(And Poor Rinon! what a past he's endured!)

Please review!


	13. Chapter 11

Shout out to my wonderful reviewers from last time! Batghost, Ms. Hawkeye, and discordchick!

hold onto you pants, this is the END of PART 1!

* * *

Chapter 11

The State of the World Council was, in a word, pandemonium. For everyone's mutual benefit, the original seat holders had somehow managed to survive the Kree attack, and gathered twelve hours after the surprise in order to better coordinate their future plans. Vanaheim was in ruin. Its capital coastal city would take years to repair, its people were either dead or displaced, and half the working force had met their doom while the other half hadn't been found. A handful of survivors, from both the populace and the fighting force, escaped and were picked up by the Alfheimr armada, but those numbers were crushingly low in the scheme of things.

This time, Clint found it prudent to attend, against sound medical advice, of course. Bruce glared at him from across the room when his attention drew away from the seriousness of their conversation. Despite his own want to stay below deck and tend to those in his critical care center, he understood the World Council's need for his presence. If they did go after the Kree, rooted them out wherever they hid, they might need to bring a heavy hitter along for the ride. The Hulk was their gambit.

"This declaration of war by the Kree can not go unmanaged. If we sit idly by, we are simply giving them free lease to do as they will and attack us again." Nova Prime said, to the agreement of those around her.

"We know they carry Dark Elven technology in their hulls. Discovering them will take strategy that we have not yet developed a method for." Brez of the Dark System said, to his counterpart, Krex's, hearty agreement.

"I found a way to track them." Tony leaned away from the wall by Clint's side and displayed a three-dimensional rendering of the Kree warships. He slid the rendering over the conference table, and expanded it to take up nearly half the room. "With a little help from our friendly Elves, I've cracked the frequency they use in their ship's cloaking devices while simultaneously altering our own. I can track them."

"How do we know it will work?" Petro, Muspelheim's representative, asked through his onscreen image.

"We've already tested it." Hank Pym announced. He sat to Bruce's right and watched the proceedings with interest from the outer rim of the room. With his own digital pad, he shrank Tony's ship mock-up, and inserted an overview of Bruce's star map. A jagged line cut an arc up along the rim of it.

"We tracked a Kree ship through the Dark System, right before it cut through Nine Realms airspace and headed toward the rest of the Kree fleet. The entire data plots are there. At the same time we cast our net, we found twelve more ships waiting literally in the dark side of the Vanaheim moon. If anyone happened to catch the fire show this morning, that was what happened."

"They attempted another ambush?" Oqquiri asked.

"We headed them off this time." Hank supplied, nodding toward the standing Rinon.

All attention shifted to the Elven general at this point, as if awaiting an explanation they did not understand would never come. To Elves, it was simply enough to show up one second and disappear the next. It was their nature. No justifications were ever necessary. Sensing keenly that he was not in the company of men and women who accepted such customs, Rinon indicated Clint with a careful tip of his head. A cry for help, if ever one existed.

Clint took the stage. He pushed away from the wall and strode toward the head of the table at Rinon's side. Steve Rogers sat just to his right. He still hadn't gotten to chew Clint out for his earlier save-the-Elves stunt, and Clint assumed that was well on its way to coming out. For Rinon's, and the present company's sake, Steve would wait until they were in private.

"Hi." Clint said.

Everyone waited, stared, and gleaned what they could from his simple appearance. He'd borrowed some clothes from Tony. Most of them were a hair too small, making him feel like the entire World Could count the rivulets of muscles comprising his abdomen.

"No need to introduce yourself, Mr. Hawkeye. I think the entire council knows who you are." Nova Prime addressed him. She looked around the room for any signs of confusion, but found none. Clint was known to them before the events of the Sarhorn played out. Now, with a full nine months since M-day spent understanding every aspect of his looming death, the council needed no reminding as to his particular significance.

"What Rinon won't say for himself is a matter of Elven tradition, not lack of support for what's being done here. Twelve years ago, I nearly died on Alfheimr soil. It was directly after the Dark Elves invaded Asgard and Queen Frigga was murdered. I'm sure Odin himself can attest to the fact that having me put to death in Rinon's kingdom would have incited a war."

Odin did not deny it.

"It was due to that fear, and the knowledge that Alfheimr was unguarded in a universe that was rapidly developing newer and greater threats, that he turned over the throne to the now deceased King Haladarrel so that he could pursue arming his people should a threat of this scale occur again. Through the graciousness of the Elven people, they are willing to lead their ships on our behalf and protect the project from here forward."

Rinon smiled faintly and inclined his head, acknowledging his acceptance of Clint's words.

Odin spoke. "I'm sorry for the loss of your king. He was a kind and gentle ruler. Taken much too early. I wish health to your queen. Does she travel to Alfheimr now to facilitate his funeral?"

"She does." Rinon said for himself.

"Godspeed to her." Steve said. "If there is anything we can do please ask."

"It is not necessary. But I accept your condolences on the behalf of my people."

Clint reclaimed their attention. "Rinon will stay here as a representative of his realm's interest and will govern his men. I'm leaving."

The news hit the room like a lead pipe might shatter an icicle. Given Clint's importance to the overall picture, they perhaps assumed he would remain in close hands for the next six years until Galactus himself arrived to herald in the destruction of the worlds. Nova Prime got out of her seat. Tony dropped his chin into his chest, more surprised at Clint's delivery of the news than the facts themselves. Natasha tried to hug a wall and pretend she had no idea of his plans. Steve finally regained the ground by picking up his shield and slamming the metal against the conference table. It created such a clatter the participants actually jumped.

He turned on Clint himself. "You have a good reason for deciding to drop this on us?"

"A few, actually." Clint replied, readying for a fight. "First off, it's my life; and whether I'm here or somewhere else, I'll be saving 20 billion people in six years. So what's it matter if I take off now? Secondly, this little show of force is nothing without one key piece of the puzzle: The Infinity Gauntlet. Peter Quill's been out there for the past nine months, and hasn't found so much as a lead yet. I, for one, am not just going to sit back and let Galactus get it first. Thirdly, after this little show from the Kree, we can assume things are only going to start getting worse. We might be looking at war fronts spread across seven galaxies, which leaves a lot of room for code breakers to get onto what we're trying to find. Somehow, somewhere, word is going to get out that we're looking for the Gauntlet. That's going to bring out every drifter and roustabout with Thanos in his pocket to try and find it before we can. Time is ticking against us."

"What makes this man think he could even discover the Gauntlet where another man has failed? And has anyone firm proof that Thanos controls an interest here?" the frost giant leader, Ligsri asked.

"Thanos is smart. He's not going to show his hand unless he has to." Steve said. His eyes never left the whole he mentally drilled in Clint's skull. "How do you expect to find the Gauntlet?"

To that, Clint motioned across the room to Hank Pym. "He's my bait. The Sarhorn said that his manipulation of the Infinity Stone is what starts off these events. We know all the stones are together. If we find one, we find them all."

Pym slowly managed to reach his feet. "Me?! I never – "

"I thought our aim was to avoid the Gauntlet falling into the wrong hands." Krex said. "Giving it to Dr. Pym would start the events, yes, but is there not a way to avoid them? That is what we must know."

Clint glanced at Rinon, but said nothing. He knew, wholeheartedly now, that there was no possible way of stopping what must come. It didn't do any good to burden the rest of them with the same news. "Which is why I'm going in alone first. Give me one year. If, in that time, I can't find it, then we take the next logical step and bring Pym in. We know that Galactus' heralds are going to start coming out of the woodwork. When they do, no world is going to be safe." Clint said.

Rinon reached toward Clint's shirt tail and grasped it between his two fingers. He showed his support without speaking. Clint decided he was going to one day show the former king how to speak in sign language. Rinon seemed built for the quiet symbols.

"You can understand why this is troubling to us. And your decision to deliver it this way is not exactly helping matters." Xavier said. He entertained nearly just as much notoriety in the galaxy as Clint. His work in the Shi'ar and the Kree war, which was what brought the Kree to Earth in the first place, had become quite legendary. The World Council hoped bringing him on would inspire further assistance from the might Shi'ar force. Thus far, that system remained impassive on all proceedings.

Clint smirked. "Come on, Professor. You read minds, you telling me you didn't see this coming."

"I may hold that capability, but I believe in the privacy of one's thoughts. So no, I had no inclination."

"Hate to tell you those are the facts. I'm leaving tomorrow." Clint folded his arms, and looked around for further protest. That old sharpness from his SHIELD days roared back in. He wanted to get that original edge he thought dulled with the loss of his first family and his entry to the business ownership world. Challenge mounted behind the disappointed faces around him, but few voiced that so openly.

"Oh, and Loki's coming with me."

The room completely erupted.

:(:):(:):

"You are an idiot."

"Be nice, Tony, I'm injured."

"No, you aren't."

"I think my bleeding kidney disagrees."

"You aren't, because you keep saying you are fine. And on top of that, you are going off, leaving us, and taking…uh, HELLO? Loki, the Prince of I'm-going-to-kill-you-all-in-the-most-interesting-ways-ever. You know what, fine, you are hurt. You fell on your head, or your brain tumor came back and you're dying. You'd tell me if that happened, right?"

Clint set a second crate of supplies on the running board to the Quinjet hull while Bruce watched as disapointed as any doctor with the worst patient ever. He had half the galaxy map to cross before coming up on Quill's last known location. The Vanaheim portal would take them as far as Xandar, and they'd rely on the onboard systems to take them the remainder of the way. He hadn't been on an actual mission with the Guardians of the Galaxy in nearly six years. There was no telling how they would react to his suddenly showing up.

The night went by sleeplessly. He wanted to travel to Alfheimr with the queen and see Haladarrel one last time before his burial, but even Rinon quashed the plan. Clint was needed elsewhere, and Haladarrel wouldn't know of his presence or absence either way. He would be taken back to his Outer Glencove clan, and buried in the tombs of his ancestors. The archer could visit when the business was done. For now, the living needed him more than the dead.

Tony smacked Linnor in the arm and indicated Clint. "You tell him something! He's not listening to me!"

"When do I ever listen to you?" Clint asked, shoving the crate into position with his foot. He stretched to his side, holding his arm across his waist to rub the newly sutured hole.

"I believe your faith in the frost giant, Loki, is misplaced, and my hearty opinion is he will defy you, kill you, and send your body to the depths of an unknown world." Linnor said very honestly.

"That's what I told him." Bruce sat on one of the jump seats in the hull, and fiddled with the safety belts. None of the Avengers were particularly supportive of Clint's potential suicide mission.

"Is your midlife experiencing a crisis?" Thor asked.

"No, Thor, it's not." Clint said.

"I think it is. He married me, did a suicide entry through a portal, then flew down to Vanaheim under heavy fire and almost got himself killed. No offense, Faraday." Natasha added.

Faraday bowed slightly to the left, and took a step in that direction as well. He held no ill will to her statement.

"You are married?!" Thor boomed. "Why, we have not feasted over this excitement!" All at once everyone seemed to converge on him and it was al Clint and Natasha could do to shove them off.

"Not that exciting!" Clint exclaimed. He lied. He was giddy that she'd finally consented to it. "And again, I am not having a midlife crisis."

"I do concern myself over your safety." Rinon whispered to him.

The ring of heroes had stuffed themselves into the smaller quinjet model that settled in the corner of the expansive _Gateway_ hanger. First, Natasha had followed Barton there from their room, determined to help him despite her pounding concussion. Following her, came Tony Stark. One by one, everyone else came also. Linnor, Faraday, Rinon, Thor, Steve, and Bruce were all spread out around the hull, and considered how they might convince Clint to stay on the _Gateway_. Once his mind was made, changing it took a great deal of doing. They hoped that approaching him like an intervention would have some kind of impact.

Loki leaned on the cockpit doorway and watched them all like a shark. "Your keen ability to discuss me in such irreverent terms whilst in my very presence gives me little condolence toward your opinion of me."

Tony leaned to see Loki's face around Clint's shoulder. "Oh, are you hearing good enough back there, Lord Voldemort? If not, let me repeat a little louder exactly how much the sight of you makes me want to pluck out my own eyes."

"I would not object if you did." Loki shot back.

Thor stepped forward into the center of their group, and extended his hands to both warring parties. "Let not our disdain over one another cloud our current judgment. And Loki, if you preferred not to listen to our ill assessment of your character, you might do yourself a favor and depart. Or, better yet, agree not to go of your own accord."

Loki pushed off the wall and sneered at his brother. "Where the archer goes, I go. I have a strange interest in my self-preservation, and it just so happens that I believe I may be able to lend something to his search. Is that such a deplorable cause?"

"Coming from you? It's terrifying. Actually, it makes me distrust you even more." Steve Rogers said, standing.

"Seriously, Loki, not helping. Go sit in the cockpit or something." Clint told him.

The Frost Giant gave them a departing, withering look, but did as Clint suggested and slipped away. He closed the door behind himself and sank into the co-pilot's chair alone. Clint waited for him to settle in before turning to the cabin of concerned friends. Not one of them held a look other than pure amazement.

"Um, since when did he start listening to you?" Bruce asked the obvious.

"I said not to worry about it."

"Well, too late, because we're all worrying about it."

"Look, I'm sorry, but I can't stand being here. I mean, Tony, the clock wall? A countdown? Seriously?!" Clint threw his arms out to the sides and let them fall. "Everyone on this ship is just counting down the days, wondering when it's all going to go down. Wondering when I'm going to jump and die. I can't stand it, I'm over it. I got myself a new lease on life the minute I woke up on that hospital bed, and I want to actually do something with my time. Ok? Tony, you can understand that, can't you?"

Stark didn't look at him. "Uh, no. Actually, I'd prefer if you just stayed here, never left, and when that clock ran out I had this whole plan that included locking you into the cargo hold."

Clint knew from the man's tone he was being completely serious. Clint strode over to him and thumped his shoulder with one hand. Tony looked at him, and Clint made a few, curt signs at him. Before the Sarhorn cured Clint's hearing, he'd been deaf for nearly fifteen years. Adjusting to his new found sense took time, but he still retained the old habits of signing certain words. Especially ones that referred to his friends' names. His special sign for Tony started by writing the letter T, then I, and lastly, he dropped one hand over his face like the fall of Tony's face plate. Only five living people had a specialized sign language symbol for their name. It was one that Clint used as a sign of endearment just between himself and that person. Even Steve Rogers didn't have one.

~"I'll be ok, and I'll be back."~ Clint signed between them.

~"I'm worried."~ Tony signed back.

~"I know. Don't be."~ He indicated the Elven general, Rinon. "Do me a favor and fill up your time showing Rinon how to use sign language. I know he'd appreciate it."

Rinon was indeed intrigued by this mysterious private movements, and watched their hands with earnest excitement. "A fascinating form of communication." He said.

"Clint?"

Barton nodded.

~"Goodbye."~ Tony signed. He had to say it, like a ritual. When Clint nearly died of the stroke, Tony tore himself up over it. He'd seen Clint only minutes before and failed to recognize the danger brewing beneath the surface of Clint's skin. He never had the chance to utter those simple words. Now, when they parted, he couldn't help himself. He had to say them, just in case he never got the chance to again.

Clint repeated the sign. Whether the Avengers, Elves, realms, and worlds liked it or not, he was leaving.

:(:):(:):

Through the closed forward hatch, Loki overheard the muffled leave-taking of Barton and the other heroes. It may have hit him in a sensitive place once to hear such tender exchanges, now it brought little more than disdain. He had no patience for the affections of others since the terrible business of Thor's coronation, the day Loki was passed over for his brother. He had friends then in his own way. The Warriors Three, Thor, even Amora the Enchantress herself had at one time been a pivotal figure of his young and naive life. Eventually all of them fell away. Such was the fickleness of nature.

For a moment he allowed himself to remember that blond Asgardian woman. Amora had been his teacher in his youth. She manipulated the world in a way no other could. Frigga had talents too, tricks she'd passed on to her adoptive son, but Amora was his real teacher. Perhaps once he fancied some affection for her, despite her obvious affinity for Thor over him. Jealousy. That was the root of his life. Thor and all those things he had been awarded that Loki had not. Everywhere Thor turned he encountered blessings from heaven without ever lifting a finger to their creation. Loki's blood boiled at the very idea. It fueled him in his task like nothing else could. Whatever happiness he once considered in Amora was long dead now. He had a slight pang of slight regret when he learned of her murder. He may have been prepared in his past to destroy her himself but that didn't mean he wasn't still fond of her abilities. There were few creatures in the galaxy that might accomplish the things she could. Her secrets didn't necessarily die with her, and that was the greatest crime of all.

Loki's eyes fell closed as he listened to the voices outside die away. Though he may not need the normal sleep cycle of a man, he did require something every few days. Having survived these last three months with only four such opportunities threatened to ruin him. Even now, his body attempted to dive into that great blackness in the back of his eyelids. That wasn't, though, what awaited him. A hand began to materialize as the darkness cascaded around him like a pool of ink. A golden glove, studded in six brilliant gemstones, sought to take hold of him. Loki inhaled, his body shook, the fear raced up his spine at the reality flashing toward him closer and closer. The invasion of dreams was one of Amora's greatest abilities. Loki had never mastered it, but someone had. Someone he feared more than the death that would soon run rampant in the galaxy. A scream threatened to form on his lips as the glaring red eyes pierced through him in the dark.

"Loki!" Clint exclaimed, shaking the Frost Giant awake.

Loki sat up very quickly. He looked around and gained his bearings before he risked uttering the scream he threatened to release.

Barton chuckled. "That was fast. Are you going to help me pack this bucket? Or do you plan on not eating for the next year? Come on, I've got a hole in my kidney."

"Whatever this ship may offer for sustenance would be unfit for even Odin's dogs." Loki complained. He tried to mask his horror of what Clint had just saved him from.

"Uh, huh. Get to work." Clint replied, retreating back into the main cabin.

Loki watched him go. He took the moment alone to glance at the mark covered by the small leather wrap on his palm. It hadn't changed. The circular mark remained, like a tattooed brand displaying for all the world to see that Loki was no more than a controlled slave who'd made a deal he could not hope to escape. It was the Enchantress' brand but issued by another.

His debt remained with Thanos.

* * *

WHAT? WHHHAAAAATTT?!

So that is the End of Part 1! I know there was a lot of lead in, so thank you for bearing with me. I am almost finished writing part 2, so get ready for all the action, suspense, and kidney punches of death!

Please review!


	14. PART 2 Begins: Chapter 12

To my wonderful reviewers! Thank you for sticking with me on this!

discordchick

khaitosfren

Ms. Hawkeye

* * *

**I CAN HEAR THE DRUMS**

**PART 2**

* * *

Chapter 12

February 20th, 2029

Flying in the emptiness of space, in a ship no larger than a dump truck on the inside, was a peculiar sort of loneliness. Despite the filled worlds in the distance, the bursting life of suns, star streams, comet tails, and stellar creatures, the feeling of being utterly cold and alone permeated. Being trapped in a ship with none other than the endless trickster, Loki, himself was like cursing Clint to live in purgatory. They passed through the first portal together without incident, despite Clint's inclination to through them into a tailspin, and arrived just beyond Xandar. Recent reports stated that the Guardians of the Galaxy team had evacuated their little crashed on world in the Oore system and might be on their way toward Galaxy Red. Clint plotted them a course down through the interstellar map in a weaving path. It might be weeks before Quill showed up again on their radar.

He attempted to turn the controls over to autopilot from day one, but for some reason the minute they passed through the Vanaheim portal, the ship decided the autopilot wasn't worth its upkeep. Clint and Loki took shifts at the helm in literally the longest road trip in existence. Over time, trapped in cramped quarters with no way to escape, forced to pilot a ship for a long stretch of time with two men who were once, and still were, enemies was like trapping a lit barrel of gunpowder in the back of an armored car. Loki hardly slept, as was his Frost Giant nature. Still, they took twelve hour on, twelve hour off times. Clint ate behind the wheel, exercised for an hour and a half, slept, exercised for two hours, and sat behind the helm again. It was a droll, prison like existence, but it was their only option.

During his one opportunity to sleep, Clint heard Loki calling out for him. He rolled over, dragging their shared blanket up to his shoulders. "Fly the ship, Loki." He mumbled back.

"Barton."

Clint groaned, dragging the pillow over his face.

Two fingers prodded down at his shoulder. Loki's voice came closer to his ear. "Wake up." The Frost Giant ordered.

Clint turned over very quickly. Loki, the real Loki and not his phantom disguise, towered over him. Barton shot up and looked at the control panel. "You had one job! Get back at the wheel!" He untangled himself out of his blankets and stumbled to the pilot's chair. Before he could fall forward on his face, Loki grabbed him around the waist and set him up right again.

"Relax yourself, we are not plummeting toward a star, I have fixed our flying capabilities and we can remain free from our tedious duties." Loki said.

Clint pulled out of his grip and stepped away to find his scattered wits. He rubbed his eyelids with the palms of his hands and itched through his hair. "Say that again."

"I have repaired our piloting system." Loki repeated. He swept his hand to the side and indicated the steady flight path.

Clint looked over his shoulder and found they were, in fact, neither being attacked by Kree warship nor were they crashing into a sun. He didn't find the Milano, the Infinity Gauntlet, or even a chocolate éclair pie. Those five things were the only five things that Loki was allowed to disturb him with per their rules over Clint's sleeping schedule. "Are you telling me you woke me up to show off your repairs?" Clint asked turning on him. "Seriously?"

"I thought you may like the chance for our hands to be free." Loki replied, his proud face beginning to crumble under Clint's obvious lack of enthusiasm.

"I was dreaming. About Natasha, a beach, and I even had a cheeseburger in my hands, ready to go. Loki I could kill you." Clint stole the blanket off the floor, wrapped himself up and would have literally jumped back into the bed if he could. The cot was nothing but canvas fabric over a military framework. He settled for sinking onto it sideways. He groaned into his hands. Getting to sleep had always been a problem for him. In the past, the instant he reached that plane, waking again took an atom bomb going off in his bedroom. He was deaf then. Since having his hearing returned by the healing hands of the Sarhorn race, not only falling asleep, but staying that way, took considerable effort. He wasn't used to hearing everything going on in a room and if he didn't want to, he would just take out his hearing aids and pretend nothing at all was happening. He never thought he'd miss being deaf, but in some ways he did.

"Your lack of enjoyment is disconcerting." Loki said, folding his hands.

"Because I'm gonna kill you. That's why." Clint looked up from beneath the shade of his eyelashes. "Look, we've been over this. I did not bring my noise canceling headphones. That means every word you say, this super hearing they call normal amplifies in my brain until I can't even think. When I actually sleep, I need to stay asleep. Or else you get cranky Clint Barton in the morning."

"We are in space, morning is a figment of your mind." Loki replied in dejection.

Clint's hands dropped from his face and hung over his knees. "One more crack and I will, literally, hurt you."

"So violent when you don't get your mortal sleep cycle!" Loki exclaimed. He turned away, throwing his hands into the air, and dropped onto the bench across from the archer. He crossed his arms over his chest. The cabin was cold, like most of space. He had the good fortune of being a frost giant and unaffected by it. That did not mean Clint was similarly unaffected. The constant cold, close quarters, and exhaustion was taking its toll and it was easy to see that. "I remember some of those evils you completed under my influence. I now consent that your sleepless nights as my aid may have factored into your own brutality. How long did it take you to recover?"

Clint's eyes darkened. "You're playing with fire, Frost Giant. Stop while you can."

"Did you enjoy facing your red-headed bride with knife in hand in anticipation of gutting her like she feared?"

Clint sprang to his feet, called his bow and found an arrow on its string. He pulled back, his shoulders tight and stance rock hard. There was no sign of tremor or falter in him.

Loki leaned forward, bringing the standard tip closer to the point of his nose. He smiled, not because he didn't think Clint would fire. After all, Barton had done that to him once before. They'd been on Asgard then. Clint had inadvertently fallen into league with a horrible, manipulative Asgardian enchantress. Without Loki's help he might have even been forced to murder Thor and Odin both. The Avenger did not exactly appreciate having to result to asking for Loki's help. Loki had egged him into it, insulting him enough to push Clint over the edge. If he wasn't careful now, Clint might add a second scar to the one he'd shot into his shoulder those years ago. He waited to see what Clint might due. Barton did let the arrow fly, however he fired into the supply box just over Loki's forehead. He shaved off a trail of hair which disturbed Loki more than the fact that Clint fired the arrow at all.

Loki rubbed the top of his head. "That was very mean. I did not threaten you with my dagger."

Clint let his bow go and it disappeared into thin air. "Stop this grandstanding. Seriously, you know it doesn't work on me." He dropped back onto the cot and brought his blanket around his bare arms again. "We both know that mind stone went two ways." He whispered.

A darkness dropped between them. It was thick and palpable, like the ax of an executioner falling. They could go on with the conversation, pretend Clint hadn't brought their deepest secret into the recessed track lights of the ship's interior, but that would be a lie to themselves. Maybe it was time, after so many years, to air out that dirty laundry they suppressed.

"An unfortunate, unforeseen event." Loki's chin lifted defiantly. He wanted to travel down this line of questioning about as much as a lobster wanted to be boiled alive.

Clint stood again, pulling the blanket a little tighter into his chest. He looked out the front viewport at the stars streaking by as they cruised through the galaxy at light speed. At least they were finally making faster time. "You can't pretend it didn't happen. As much as you want to be that difficult, ruthless, heartless, murdering backstabber, I know the truth. I know it like Thor used to see it before you destroyed his trust forever." Clint leaned in the back of one of the pilot's chairs. "That was your fault."

Loki's hands became fists but he said nothing.

"I know what you fear. Losing that pretty scalp of yours. And you know what I fear. We're even. We always have been whether or not you care to admit it. That doesn't mean you didn't screw me up for a very long time. You did. I'm sure that makes you feel better."

"In some ways it does." Loki said without the same enjoyment in his voice.

"I'm glad I could make you smile. Look, Loki, I'm not going to pretend I have no clue what you're up to. You want the gauntlet and to get it you think you need to stick with me. That's a smart idea in some ways. The trouble is I know your game and I'm not going to let you have it."

Glad to be along another track of conversation, Loki leaned back and stacked his boots, one on top of the other. He sighed. "Oh, my poor mighty plan thwarted once again by the archer. Whatever shall I do to recompense this mistake? I will have you know that my only aim in all of this is not the control of that monstrous weapon. I value my own skin and surely it would more likely entertain my own destruction than control of the galaxy. And beyond that point is this: the Infinity Gauntlet, despite all its powers, can do nothing to stop Galactus. What would be my gain in achieving a universe of which I cannot rule?"

Clint considered his words. "That's weird. I actually believe you. I must be going native."

"Perhaps you believe me because I speak the truth."

"Unlikely, but I grant you that small, infinitesimal, possibility." Clint turned the copilot's chair around and sank into it. He pulled his knees up to his chest, yawned, and draped his head on the side rest along the back of the chair.

Loki might have spoken again, but decided against it. His interim roommate was tired and he was also correct. A cranky Clint Barton became a far more disagreeable lodger than a rested one. After a time, when it appeared he'd fallen back to sleep again, Loki picked up the blanket from where it fell. In a few hours when Barton woke, he planned to deny wrapping it over the archer.

* * *

SO WHAT IS CHANGING HERE IN PART 2? excitement, danger, the Herald's of Galactus. Clint's father returns! Peter is found! Earth under attack! Holy Crap!

Please review! I'm working hard on this sucker. just want to make sure it's going on all right:)


	15. Chapter 13

Thank You To::

m klindt (I shall never cease to tease!)

Ms. Hawkeye(Oh the things I have in store!)

Batghost (Totally the odd couple!)

* * *

**I CAN HEAR THE DRUMS**

**PART 2**

* * *

Chapter 13

March 15th, 2029,

_it has been 62 days in space...together..._

Cross Lake had nothing to do with Christianity or large bodies of water. It existed as a way point where the Oore System, the Dark System, Hyth's Star Vein and Galaxy Red all crossed paths. Small crystals of space debris collated in the blackness, and demarcated one system from another. The colors were red for the similarly-named galaxy, a deep purple for the Dark System, luminescent streaks of blue and silver for Hyth, and lastly, green bioluminescence for Oore. Cross Lake, a little moon outpost, hovered in the circulating tracks of this rainbow. It contained all the basic necessities for interstellar travelers: fuel, food, and information.

Clint decided to make the stopover. They'd been flying for two months without so much as a lead for Star-Lord's trail. Quill had yet to answer anyone's summons, from either the armada they left behind, or the personal ship. No one they passed had any idea as to the Guardian's location, and time was running short. They passed the first year out of seven before Galactus meant to return, and still they were no closer to finding the Infinity Gauntlet. Traveling in the small quinjet model across three star systems and, by now, countless planets created a strange camaraderie between the two dead-set enemies. They had a common goal, at the very least, for which to focus their sights on but that fact alone did not spare them the occasional jabs or threats of bodily harm upon one another. Getting out of the close quarters was Clint's second, and more paramount, reason for stopping at Cross Lake. He needed to simply stretch his legs and see a friendly face that did not belong to the ones the Frost Giant conjured up for fun.

"I still say that, should we fail to find indication of him here, we should cease this search of him and conduct our own investigation." Loki said, waiting along the gangplank for Clint to follow him down.

Barton shrugged out of his heavy jacket, and left it hanging on the back of the pilot's seat. Cross Lake had the grand fortune of orbiting a blue star. The sheer heat gave it the same kick of the Mojave desert. Trotting down the gangplank to catch up, Clint stretched out his arms and greeted the incredible feel of heat, air, and fresh oxygen. "I think we should dock here for a few weeks."

"No." Loki said instantly, rubbing his bare arm self-conscientiously.

"Oh come on, you get to enjoy the freezing cold, I want a little heat. As much as I can get. I might even go swimming. Are there pools here?" They strode down the landing platform together, sealing the ship closed behind them. Cross Lake was well regulated as far as security went. However, that didn't mean he trusted the random other ruffians to leave his brand new Midgard Armada ship untouched. They discussed adjusting the outside paneling when they got a chance to help the craft better blend in, they simply hadn't had the resources to do it. Making no statement at all, was much better than showing up in a new area with a short-burst fighting ship.

They strode through the center of town together, getting a general feel for the peculiar outpost. Clint had received a tip back in the Dark System that an old acquaintance of his, a Denali Rizzo, had moved his family to the moon.

It was strange to think back of Earth and his home he'd left behind. The memories made him feel old. It was true that waking up from the Sarhorn's healing gave him a new lease on life, and a vigor he hadn't felt in years, but that didn't hide the plain and true facts that age was slowly sneaking up on him like a thief in the night. He'd broken his hip once. The doctor's said arthritis set in, giving him the smallest hitch in his step that only strangers seemed to notice. His back was still strong, despite the years of archery, but his elbows were taking their licks. Tennis elbow, they called it. He'd never played a day of tennis in his life. The only consolation was Tony being a few years older than him. He'd gone grey first, a fact that Clint used to tease him incessantly about until the first white strands found their way in his own head of hair. Stark was a few years into fifty. Pym was passing sixty-seven. T'Challa neared fifty-three already. The creaks and cracks of their age caught up with them the way Thor, Steve, and Natasha would never know. There was something fundamentally unfair about that.

"I detest the idea of swimming, stripping down, and dealing with this ridiculous place. We are here to find a man who wishes to be simply the most unattainable informant the universe can offer, and if we ever do recover him, I may show him the exact lengths of my displeasure." Loki replied. He'd been forced to abandon his regal clothing for the much more understated "trappings" he currently sported. Short sleeves, though they complimented his physique, did nothing for his sensibility. Short anything, was meant for children and not for future kings, in his opinion. However, practicality was also a necessity. The world was hot, much too hot for him to endure living outdoors for a considerable amount of time.

"That sounds like a personal problem. I don't think Star-Lord wants anything to do with your _lengths_ or _pleasures_." Clint shot back. He threw a playful smirk over his shoulder, which Loki very nearly kicked him for. What Clint had lost those years of voluntary domesticity, he had slowly reclaimed in their time together: snark, quick wit, and an unending annoyance that Loki very much preferred to smack right out of him. Then again, the feeling was most likely mutual.

"I swear, if I am to endure you another moment, I may decide to throw myself into that black hole and give my life to Galactus now."

"You do that, and I have no one to annoy." Clint said. They reached the outside of Denali's place and Clint pulled open the old New Jersey diner-style door, and flourished his hand inward, inviting Loki to enter ahead of him. "Besides, you think you are much too pretty for suicide."

"And you don't?" Loki quipped, trying to walk by.

Clint cut him off, hip checked the Frost Giant against the wall, and walked inside ahead of him. "Nope!" He called, and headed for the bar stools.

The place was called _Four Corners_, a fitting description given its location in the universe. Its owner, Denali Rizzo, was a beehive-haired cross-dresser who left Earth during the mass evacuation of 2020 when the Mutant Registration Act went into effect. Even though Denali was a certifiable alien, most of the off-worlders who called Earth home decided to move on, rather than suffer the same fate as some of their mutant friends. Earth, Terra, Midgard had plunged into a form of insanity. What started out as a peaceful aim to census the known mutant powers in existence within the US borders, quickly dropped to the levels Professor Xavier always feared, and Magneto himself warned about. Mutants were cordoned off, held in internment camps when deemed too dangerous. Those who wouldn't comply with the terms of the census, were put under house arrest. Those who refused to submit themselves to the government, were hunted down, captured, killed, or many times worse. Clint had been instrumental during those dark times in setting up a sort of Underground Railroad. With Wolverine's help, he shuttled mutants and aliens out of the East Coast to where Logan took them at the Canadian border. Safety waited for the refugees on that foreign soil.

Clint, himself, didn't exactly escape his own torment. Though he wasn't a mutant, he was arrested for suspicion of smuggling. As an Avenger, and a famous one at that, his arrest made international headlines. When he was released with a back full of new lashes, his bloody body became the rally point for change to usher in. Some special beings still hid, despite the Act's repeal. Some left, and never came back. Denali was just one of the many.

"BARTON!" Rizzo cried, seeing the Avenger. He spread his arms out wide, crossed beneath the counter divider, and tightened Clint in an embrace. He pulled back, adjusting the auburn beehive, which slipped from the stocking cap he used to anchor it to his head.

"Hi, Riz. How's tricks?" Clint asked. He leaned on one of the stools.

"Hardly anything in this place. But, you know, I got the diner, which has always been my own little piece of heaven. God, what I wouldn't give for a Wawa coffee right now, though. How's Jersey?" Riz, beside the hair, played the part of alternating genders well. He wore an old 40s diner skirt, blue on top, with a hem hand sewn in white. His matching button up shirt went right up to his Adam's apple, with the lapels flattened and freshly ironed. He'd even managed to procure a pair of black healed loafers to conclude the look.

"Wish I'd known, they have those little bags of it now. I would have brought you some." Clint replied.

Rizzo groaned at the thought of an opportunity missed.

"Barton, honestly speaking, is there no place in this universe where you can travel that we do not run into someone of your acquaintance?" Loki grumbled. He stood to Barton's left and glared at the owner. In the last twelve planets, moons, and floating docks they'd visited in just the last week, Clint had to greet at least one person whom he had some recollection of. Others knew him by reputation alone and occasionally crawled out of their ale mugs merely to pump his hand in theirs and offer to buy him a round or show him the sights. Loki was either surreptitiously ignored or met with an open hostility if he was even recognized at all. After a while of simply staring, he couldn't help himself. "What are you?" he asked the cross-dresser.

Denali folded his arms and glared right back. "I don't owe a thing to a back-stabbing coward like you. I should really give you a stiff sock in the jaw for that New York stunt. I lost my favorite Prius because _someone_ just had to control the planet and let his little minions drop a skyscraper on it."

Clint put a hand on Loki's chest and pushed him back a pace. He'd gotten used to this. "All right, back down, you two. Loki's working with me on a case, whether I like it or not. Loki, this is my contact, Denali Rizzo. Me and Riz spent time in Jersey together. He's a cousin of my employee, Bill."

The Frost Giant's eyes narrowed as he looked the peculiarly dressed man up and down again. If he was a relation of Clint's one and only employee back on Earth, Billetekeli "Bill" Frostketen, that made him a Blenheim native. They looked essentially human, with a few idiosyncrasies here and there. What he could not place his finger on, was why the obviously masculine man would ever be caught in such dour drapes as those he seemed to willingly wear. And unless Loki was gravely mistaken, Denali Rizzo was a man with a pair of copious breasts.

"I see you prefer the company of men." Loki assumed.

Rizzo threw back his head and laughed, his Adam's apple bobbing in the day's old stubble along his neck. "Oh, that was rich! Hilarious. I like him for his jokes, not the mass murder thing." Rizzo slipped back under the counter, and appeared at the coffee maker. He poured a mug out, added Clint's familiar fixings, and slid them over the counter top.

To Loki, Clint explained, "Rizzo isn't gay. He just prefers a simpler time, and dressing like a woman. He even has a wife. They share clothes." Clint lifted the cup handle, and blew down the steam. Where Rizzo procured the stuff, he couldn't hazard to guess. The Blen wasn't the most law-abiding alien he'd ever come across. After taking a sip of the first hot drink he'd had in months, Clint decided he didn't care where Rizzo got it. "How many kids do you have now, Riz?"

A little sparkle entered the diner-owner's eye. "Fifteen. Little sprites, they are. John, my oldest, wants to go back to Terra. He remembers it, like his sister, the doctor, but not the others. They were too young. I don't object, but, you know, what with everything going on . . ."

"News reached this far out?" Clint asked, slightly concerned. Beside him, Loki decided to take a seat. He spied a fruit across the counter, left abandoned, and reached for it. Denali smacked him, rather satisfyingly, with a rolled up piece of paper.

"Sure it has. Don't expect something like Galactus crawling out of the Dfusth Black Hole to be a secret for very long. Everyone knows. Most the people in these parts are talking about packing up. The Dfusth isn't far from here, you know."

Clint nodded. Loki instead reached over, grabbed Clint's coffee cup, and drank what remained. He set it back down between a disgruntled Barton's hands. Clint used the flat of his palm to smack the back of the Frost Giant's head. Loki shoved his shoulder. Only Denali's hearty laugh kept them from escalating.

"I see how this relationship has gone. Someone's gonna have to write a book about it. I'm guessing you're not just here to chat, Barton. Lemme set you up with a couple plates, and I'll close the place down to talk business."

"Hot meal, yes. Dear God, yes! But don't go through the rest of the trouble. If I know the guy we're looking for, this is exactly the kind of layover he'd come to when leaving Oore. We might run into him here." Clint held out his mug while Denali refilled it for him. He did not offer any to Loki.

The interior of _Four Corners_ was just like any other 1950s diner throwback in New Jersey's golden age of tin-sided buildings. The walls were slathered in old records, Elvis, Monroe, and the front ends of model cars. Red vinyl booths, polished to perfection, lined the private nooks and crannies where the rougher sorts might find a quiet chance to do business. The black and white marquis floor could have been stolen out of an original 40s home and no one would be the wiser. Steve Rogers would probably love the place more than he did Johnny Rockets.

"Who's your guy?" Denali asked, dropping the pot back onto the burner.

"Peter Quill."

Rizzo's deep, hearty laugh filled the place with life. No doubt it was a calling card. "Star-nerd? If I had a nickel for every time that guy came in here and argued with me over whether Frank Sinatra, the Jackson Five, or Queen would win in a mud wrestling contest, I would have a bigger diner."

Clint glanced at Loki with a little bit of hope. Things were looking up for once. "Seen him lately?"

Rizzo crossed his arms, and tapped his finger on one elbow while he chewed his lip. "Quill . . . Quill . . . No, I can't say I've seen him. Not in the past couple days at least. Then again usually he comes by when they first stop in for fuel, shacks up at that Klekre House on Prism Row," Denali drew close, shielding his face from Loki with one hand as if to share a secret. "That's the red light district for us Terran's in the know."

Clint smiled. He didn't point out that, despite all of Rizzo's adopted mannerisms, he was no more Terran than Thor.

"I understand the term Prism Row. I am not a sheltered whelp." Loki complained. He'd stolen the piece of fruit he eyed earlier, and stood chomping it loud enough to disturb their host.

"You are just a big ball of annoying, aren't you?" Rizzo shot back.

"Riz, Quill?" Clint interrupted again, before things escalated.

Rizzo looked back and shrugged. "He stopped in for the usual. Eggs Benedict on an English muffin , with a side of bacon, sausage, and french toast. All of it swimming in maple syrup, which isn't exactly easy to get outside of Quivenrell unless you want the crappy stuff they make in Druglee. We talked about Grease Two, a terrible movie if you haven't seen it, and he headed out with that green broad he's always with. The one that Thanos raised?"

"Gamora." Clint supplied. He finished the cup of coffee, but rather than order a third, he began to stand. "You said this was just a few days ago?"

"That's right. He always stops in first, heads to the Klekre House, and he usually comes by again before they take off-world. Unless he's short on cash. Then, he just takes off without a howdy-do. He always says he'll pay his tab before he goes. I should learn better, but you know that face he makes."

Clint extracted a few units out of his pocket and set them on the counter. It covered more than a few meals even at Denali's prices. "Thanks for the info. I think Loki and I are going to skip breakfast and check out this place. Save something hot for us when we get back? I'm a french toast guy, and so help me, if you have bacon, I might kiss you."

Denali grinned and pushed the units into his apron pocket. "Your fatty pig slices will be awaiting your return."

:(:):(:):

"How much do you trust this strange man-woman to provide you with information that will not end in our doom?" Loki asked. They walked along the wooden boardwalk of the dusty Cross Lake moon in the direction of the dark side a few blocks away. The moon was like a small colony pulled out of the old west. It was a cowboy town, full of the same life like Knowhere, but sunnier surroundings brought out the better crowds. If Clint didn't know any better, he'd put money down that Josh Whedon once shot a few movies in the place.

"Rizzo is a cross dresser, and yes, I trust his opinion." Clint replied. He stopped at the end of the next boardwalk, and looked down the connecting lane to the long line of parked ships. He hadn't seen the _Milano_ when they did an initial fly over, but he wanted to double check that nothing had changed. Quill's cruiser, though, had been outfitted with a personal cloaking device of Rocket's design. It was possible they didn't see it because of that.

"Your taste in allies is disconcerting."

"Present company not excluded?" Clint asked.

They reached the edge of Light Town, and stood on the border between the bright and dark side of the little moon. The change was striking. There was no small transition, no grey zone where the Light Side stopped and the Dark Side started. It was as if a curtain of black simply cut them in perfect halves. Clint reached his hand across the division, and felt the overwhelming cold just beyond them. He pulled his hand back and touched it to the side of Loki's face. The Frost Giant yanked away from him.

Clint chuckled. "This sucks. The minute I finally get same warm weather and Vitamin D, I'm stuck chasing Quill down on the dark side of the moon. I should go back and grab a coat."

"In the time you return to our ship, Quill may make his timely escape once more." Loki crossed the town line. His skin faded slightly blue, as if to blend into his surroundings like a chameleon. His body shook a little, getting used to the sudden temperature drop. "Stop your miserable complaining and let's get on with this."

Clint crossed into the dark. He threw his arms around his waist, and pulled his body in tight while the cold shot around him. Like jumping into a frozen lake, he waited a moment to catch his breath, and let his body adjust to the new surroundings. Already Loki had begun to turn pink again. He started down the lane, hoping a little movement would keep his fingers and toes from locking up.

Prism Row was lined on either side by tall street lamps, lit with peculiar fires. They stretched out from a stone fountain in the center of town, and took a four direction course. One lane was green, another red, a third blue, and the last purple. The fires burned in all shades of their primary color and only along their designated lanes. The fountain itself contained all the colors in liquid form. Subterranean heaters kept the water from freezing, while the jets cycled in and out of their intricate turns. Hand carved marble, precious stones, and ore formed it from the base up. The bottom was made to resemble peculiar creatures Clint had never seen. The seven faces were shrouded in marble veils, arms outstretched, with seven different sorts of wings unfurled and touching tip-to-tip with the being beside them. From there, the base went flat like seat, dipped down into the three foot well of water, and started up again in the center.

The center itself was as intricate as the base. Four warring creatures, Clint recognized some as Celestials, one was Galactus, and another he wasn't familiar with, all locked in an unending battle, frozen in time. On their backs stood the next progression, a dark black stone, lacking any sign of stars with the masks of the Dark Elves staring lifelessly at him. The next tier began to expand outward. Frost Giants, Oore, Man, Light Elves, and so many more species of sentient beings and beasts piled one on top of the other, in a beautiful diorama of flowing water fountains and floating lights. The very top held a single, brilliant stone. It was white, pure, massive, and lit the entire fountain with an internal, unexplainable hue. If Clint didn't know any better, he would have assumed he'd uncovered an Infinity Stone right in the middle of Cross Lake's red light district.

He indicated the seven creatures. "What are those?"

"The Founders." Loki replied. He peered into the well, noting the treasure of units, coins, gold, and jewels all-encompassing the bottom of the waters; wayward travelers, hoping for a wish, and receiving nothing but empty pockets in return. "Some believed the universe formed after their creation. I blame them for what we go through now."

"The Sarhorns?" Clint said in surprise. He stooped down to see eye-to-eye with one of the marble shrouds. He could just make out the texture of a face beneath. Depressions for eyes, the outward curve of a nose, and two pursed lips. The sculptor was a master of his craft.

"I forget you have never seen one." Loki said. He took a few strides around the structure, noting the history in it.

"There's seven?"

"Asgardians call it the council, or Flegneks. In Oore, they are the Guiders, Tru-vu-ni. Most every race has some fantasy or other regarding their existence." He stopped and looked over to where Clint crouched. "One of the reasons so many have agreed to abide this warning from them."

"Natasha said they're everywhere. They hear everything. Why would they show up and drop news like that, then never come back?" Clint stood and looked up at the historic progression. From the day Galactus warred with the Celestials to the reign of the Dark Elves, everything was laid out before him. It was beautiful, in a way.

"I never believed in such fairy tales. Celestials are dead. Otherwise, no one would abide in one of their skulls harvesting its juices. Galactus' days are numbered. Even the Dark Elves had their time and lost it. Why put faith in a body of creatures hardly anyone sees and still fewer speaks with?" Loki rounded the distance between himself and Clint, folding his hands behind his back. "What would be the point?"

"I don't know, yet." Clint replied honestly. He indicated the jewel. "What's that?"

"A Lion Stone. They used to exist in great quantities on Midgard. However, over time they have been squandered. Not many exist now. This is the largest I am aware of. A peculiar spot to have this, to be sure." Loki indicated their licentious surroundings.

"A reminder of morality in a place without morals." Clint said, more to himself than the Frost Giant. "No one tries to steal it?"

"I imagine it is well protected in this place, not to mention the acid I am sure this water is made of. I would not tempt it."

Clint considered the four paths they might take, and the city line not far away. If it was possible, he felt a little colder now than he had first crossing in. Most of the lanes were empty, save a few souls leaning, lying, or dining on the many available boardwalk patios. He felt he'd either stepped into an old west saloon town, or the squat men-only districts of some Asiatic city depending, on which lane he looked down. He thought about where Peter Quill might choose to go. "All right, where's the Klekre House?"

Loki didn't move. "_I _have never been here before." He stated, emphasizing himself.

"I didn't say _you_ have. You don't look like a guy that gets around much." Clint replied. He decided to choose the most obvious, and went down the red lane first. Loki trailed on beside him, his long legs overtaking Barton in an instant.

"I would have you know, if I cared for such things, that I might have whatever fool damsel I chose."

Clint laughed. "Oh really? I see them lining up at your door daily. I'm beating them off our ship with a stick. That last place we went, I believe they sang ballads about you." Sarcastic venom filled the lines.

"My interest is not _in_ fool damsels." Loki shot back.

"No, it's in horses." Clint quipped. Loki's face paled in utter horror, but Barton only shrugged. "Hey, I'm not judging, but that little thing we never discuss does give me ammunition. What? Did you think I'd never figure out how Odin ended up with an eight-legged horse? Please. I knew from day one. Don't insult my intelligence."

"It is increasingly hard to insult something which so rarely makes an appearance!" Loki's color returned with his anger.

Clint waved him off. "Oh, get off it. The only reason you're mad is you haven't gotten laid since getting out of jail, and I have a wife with a rocking hot body." They reached the end of the first block, and considered their potential directions. They could either take a side lane and try one of the other four districts, or continue another half mile or so until the red section ended. Clint decided to keep going forward.

Like any city, the further they went from the heart of town, the seedier the establishments became. Sure, some areas had the diamond-in-the-rough, or the quaint little town lined in rural houses which popped up like the gardens in their yards. But this was Cross Lake, and the dark side of it at that. Most of the area homes were tall, saloon-faced places made from wood, nails, and elbow grease. Most had some hand painted sign or other posing the wares they hid inside their swinging doors. Drinking, gambling, women, men, aliens of all races, and occasionally, Terrans, were all made available in one small, dusty town which never saw the light of day. Business boomed 24/7. Others tried to replicate the success of Cross Lake's Prism Row, but none had been as successful.

Reaching the second crossway, Clint was nearly convinced they'd chosen the wrong district until Loki pointed out the sign on the street corner diagonally from them. The place resembled something from a John Ford movie. Two swinging batwing doors separated the warm interior lights' yellow glow from the blackness painted red just outside. Three red torches lined either side of its three-body porch, which wrapped from one side of the building, down the cross street to the front of the doors, and down the red street, all the way to its next door neighbor. It was two stories high, with tall glass windows on the second floor. A few were cracked open, allowing silk and gossamer curtains to suck outside into the cold moon air. A cursory exam didn't reveal any Guardians of the Galaxy, but to know for sure, they had to go in. Clint led them to the few short steps.

"All right, I'll track down Quill. You keep an eye out for some of the others. Find Drax – " Clint paused, stopped before walking in, and looked at Loki. "You know what, not Drax. You should stay away from Drax. Find Gamora – Wait, I think you have history with her too. Ok, you have two options. Groot, or Rocket. If you find one of them, let me know."

"Your faith in my taking care of myself is astoundingly little." Loki complained.

"I just don't want a bar fight on our hands in the middle of alien old west. You do what you want." Clint pushed open one of the doors and strode inside.

The place seemed a little more updated within than it appeared. A gilded gold mirror hung over the bar back, with bottles of liquor hailing from over a thousand systems. It made Clint remember, rather suddenly, his quest for a seven year sobriety. It was a good thing he hadn't brought Tony along. The bar was tucked in the left corner, and extended out far enough for a team of two barkeeps to keep the fire water handed out. The rest of the floor was decorated in round tables, fitting four chairs a piece but no more. Too big of groups all sitting together, tended to cause more trouble than if they were split up. A few booths, aiding to privacy, were set up like a horseshoe on the far right. A gold plated rod hung over them, draping dusty black curtains in front of the occupants inside.

Clint indicated the booths with a flick of his head, and made a short sign in the other direction. Since being together, Loki learned the small bits of sign language Clint managed to retain in his daily life. They split up at the door.

Clint headed to the bar first, thought better of it, and diverted around a few parties of card players in the center tables. He followed the empty rows toward the back stair case, and slowly felt along his pant leg. He didn't want to risk sticking his hand in his pocket among this group of ruffians. No doubt they'd think he had a gun. He did want to make sure he had easy access to the clip of collapsible arrows he packed, though. Manipulating the pocket from the outside, he slid the clip closer to the opening of his pocket. He could snap the arrows out like pez from a dispenser. The tips didn't do much damage, they were only a little sharper than target shooters, but they served him just fine with a bow as strong as the Asgardian one in the close range of the saloon.

While Loki curved around and used his height to check the private booths for one of the Guardians, Clint used his charm to seduce a good informant. He rounded the half wall that separated the staircase upward from the saloon proper. Twelve ladies lined the hall, all in various degrees of undress and costumes, feathers, wigs, and pearls, to boot. Some were painted fluorescent reds for their district, others went subtle and tied red ribbons through their copious locks. Rather surprisingly, he realized one of them was Elvish.

"Pedin Elohem." _Do you speak elvish?_ Clint asked the woman. She wore a laced gold bodice, with tooled leather and a short skirt to match. Her long auburn hair had been shaved down to expose her skull on one side, and grown out and braided on the other. Dark mascara elongated her already almond shaped eyes.

She cocked her head a little in surprise, looked him up and down, and then nodded gingerly. "The-theo eva nu?" _How did you come by it?_

"Eyani'?" _Troublesome_, Clint asked. It was the Elvish word used for the Southlings who'd been banished from Alfheimr years ago, when Barton nearly lost his life. It was the only explanation for seeing an Elf in a place like this. That might either help him or hinder him, when it came to getting information. The Southlings were all sons or daughters of a supreme evil known as Ge'elaphi. Their mission was to destroy Rinon, the entire Light Elf regime, and usher in a new era on the backs of his incestuous children. The catalyst for such change was the incitement of war with Asgard. The same war Clint nearly died for. If this Elf was a daughter of that evil, the last person in the galaxy she may want to see was the Avenger their family failed to kill.

"La. Ne neyu me'el ve malira, Ackarae." _Yes. I recognize you too, archer_. She stepped away from the others, and began to head up the stairs. She paused after a few steps, and waited for him to follow. "Lue beleo. Fine miri te gee'wilu ma. Av'osto." _Follow me. I will give you whatever you seek. Do not fear me._

Clint thumbed one of the arrows free, and palmed it in his hand. He walked through the rows of call girls to follow the outcast up the stairs to the second floor. Loki, having found nothing himself, poked his head through the doorway just soon enough to watch Barton disappear into a room.

The Light Elf opened the first doorway, checked inside to be sure it was free, and stepped in. She left the entry open for Barton. He walked in behind her, and assessed the closest exits on either side of the hall before deciding to shut himself in with the Elf. This could only go one of two ways. Either he'd get what he was looking for, or she'd take out a years-long exiled embarrassment on him. He closed the door and turned to face her. The Elf's laces were already undone on her bodice. She made to pull it completely off, but Clint sailed across the room and put his hands over her. She stopped and looked at him in complete confusion. Apparently, killing him wasn't on her agenda.

"No, no, no, it's fine. I'm not here for any of that. I just want to talk." Clint explained.

The Light Elf looked down at his hands, which he pulled away, and then at the bed before looking back at him. "Talk? Ackarae, my family nearly murdered you. I, myself, wielded a bow against you. I set fire to the home of our once great king, and helped seal him into his death! If you have not come to fully declare your victory, then what could have possibly brought you here?"

A deep sadness settled into Clint's heart. Some part of him always felt a connection to those innocent lives Ge'elaphi destroyed by his insanity. His children never wanted to be born to their own brothers and sisters, or to live their lives in fear, hate, and loathing. He'd bred it into them. Clint wondered if this Elf was young enough at the time to avoid her father crawling into her bed one night in his sick depravity. By her confusion, Clint assumed not. He indicated the bed, thought better of it, and dragged over a chair. He waited for her to sit, cleared off a night stand, and sat across from her.

After a little time of letting her relax, he said, "I'm not here to take advantage of you. Whether you know it or not, normal men don't do that to women. I'm not sure how you ended up here, but I'm sorry for that. I hope the rest of your family, the good ones, have made easier lives out of their banishment. I didn't even know I'd find an Elf here, but I'm glad I have. I'm looking for a friend. A very hard to find man named Peter Quill. He's tall, with short shaggy hair, and usually dresses in body armor. You might have seen him with a woman formerly of Thanos, Gamora."

The Elf didn't say anything at first. She looked very seriously at him, and remained quiet for a long time. After a while of testing his patience, and seeing that he indeed wouldn't speak before she did, the Southling conceded. "His description is familiar. Star-Lord?"

A smile spread on Clint's lips, but he quickly let it fall away. He didn't want to frighten her with an excess of emotion. "That's right. I've been looking for him. Has he been by?"

He waited again as more long minutes passed. It was like trying to have a conversation with Rinon. "Haliu vo." _Today_, she told him.

"Is he still here?" Clint asked.

Her head went up, then down, and up, and down very slowly.

Clint would have leaned a little closer had she been human. He might have even touched her hand and tried to reassure her. But he knew better, given her species. Clint stood. He took a step backwards toward the door, and then moved one step to his left, before bowing with a little flourish. Given her position in life, she'd never seen a man be submissive to her, especially not in the Elven way. He said, "Don't be scared. I'm not trying to trick you. I only need to find him. Can you help me do that?"

She stood. As smooth as a bird, she crossed to the window and drew the curtain away. Clint walked over to join her, conscious to keep his body away from hers.

"There," she said, indicating a place across the street. "Her name is Meli. He likes her. I believe the others may be there, but I am not sure."

Clint nodded, thanked her, and headed for the door. He pulled it open to find Loki leaning on the hall railing just outside. Where once he smiled and planned to say something enticing, his expression crumbled. He looked past Barton to the woman inside and suddenly stood.

"Mal'alio! Mal'alio!" _Traitor_! The Southling screamed, bursting out of the room at him. Loki pulled his dagger as she withdrew her own, and Clint, risking life and limb, threw himself between them.

"No!" he shouted, trying to keep them apart. He trusted Loki not to strike unless forced, so Clint focused his effort on staying her hand instead. They wrestled together on the landing of the saloon. The girls below began to mount the stairs, expecting trouble at any moment.

"You liar! You trickster! You deceive with your words!" the Southling screamed in mixtures of basic an Elvish. Clint stole the knife out of her hands and threw it to the floor. With the toe of his boot he kicked it off the landing where it hit the floor somewhere below. Wrestling the woman, he ordered Loki away.

"Not without you!" Loki replied, grabbing the back of Clint's shirt as if to drag him and the Elf apart.

"She'll settle down, just get out of here!" Clint screamed back. The Southling fought him like a hellcat. He trapped her arms against her waist, and grabbed her from behind. She snarled at the Frost Giant, and, given half a chance, Clint had no doubt she'd resort to biting him if she must.

The other women reached the landing. A few of them had guns, others held electric jolt sticks. If Clint didn't get Loki out of there, then they'd have a little war on their hands. The collapsible arrow he'd palmed earlier, he now twisted. With a flick of his wrist, it extended and he held the point only a few inches from the bridge of Loki's nose. "Out!" he ordered, booking no room for argument.

Loki's eyes flicked to the fighting Southling, but he did concede. Without traveling through the gaggle of onlookers, he grabbed the banister and hurled himself over the side. He dropped down to the floor below, sent a last glance toward Barton, and headed out the door. One task complete, Clint considered his next options. He had to let the Southling go, eventually.

"Are you going to go running after him if I let you go?" Clint asked the Elf.

She pulled against him, he squeezed tighter, and it took some time, but soon she relaxed. "Ny."

He released his grip a little, just to gauge her reaction. When she continued to not fight him, he let go completely. The Elf put a few paces between them before turning around to face him. Her head tilted slightly to one side, eyes narrowing into tighter slits with curiosity piqued across them. "Why?" she asked, shaking her head. "With him? That deceiver?"

"I don't like it more than anyone else, but I have to keep him out of trouble. I'm sorry he shocked you. He has that effect." Clint explained, keeping his voice low and steady. He moved by her toward the crowd of girls who split to let him pass.

"You don't understand, do you? All that he has done? What he took from you?" The Southling continued as Clint went down the stairs.

"I know enough." He replied, not stopping. "Loki's not trustworthy, and I know that too."

She pressed against the railing, watching as Clint disappeared into the larger room. She wondered then about forgiveness. She could never return to Alfheimr again, a fact that haunted her every day of the long life she may yet live. But she'd met the man whom once she tried to kill. Not only did he want nothing from her, he was reverent, submissive, and kind. He walked with the carriage of one who knew his place in the world, even standing at the side of the Frost Giant, who so often set out to murder him. If Clint could find such forgiveness in his heart for her, for Loki, did that mean hope still existed in the dismal path of her own life? Clint himself wasn't party to her internal thoughts. He walked out of the saloon, filled with questions and answers both. He'd seen people react to Loki before. It was actually something he'd come to expect everywhere they went, but this touched him differently.

"One day, you are going to tell me exactly what that was all about." Clint said, picking up Loki as he headed across the street.

"I have enemies. A fair share of them, I might add, which is why you have forced me into half a dozen ridiculous disguises over our internment together." Loki replied easily. They entered the next bar and walked straight in. The layout was similar to its sister across the alley, but the general floor plan allowed for a bandstand on the right, with its booths along the wall directly across from them. Clint found the stairwell on their left and, without bothering to canvas the room, he headed right for it with Loki in tow.

"That's not what I meant. That girl knew you. You're going to tell me how. Not right now, but the minute I get a free minute to think for myself, I'm going to remember to ask. And you'd better be ready with a better answer than that." Clint entered the hall first, asked the working women about Star-Lord's room number. He mounted the stairs first. Loki came up behind him. Clint found the number, considered something, and sent a smirk to Loki. "I've got an idea."

"Why is it that the prospect of such a thing terrifies me?" Loki replied.

Clint nudged the door open a crack, and looked around for the woman and Peter Quill. He found her, standing over the bureau rooting through his pants pocket no doubt for spare credits. Clint figured it served him right to get robbed. He whistled a little to gain her attention and curled his finger, displaying a handful of units to entice her out. Casting a glance at the man in the bed, apparently asleep, she went over to Clint.

"Here's a fifty. Take it and my sincere apology for having to deal with him." Clint told her. He hiked a thumb down the hall, which she took as her exit, and squeezed by the two men. When the girl was gone, Clint looked back at his partner in crime. "Here's the plan – "

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Um, so i just love this dynamic!

Next time: How Clint and Loki wake up Pete, the plan for the search, and what happened to Bruce Banner...

Don't forget to review! And Hi to all those new people who favorited!


	16. Chapter 14

**Hi to all the new reviewers and readers! Welcome aboard!**

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**I Can Hear the Drums  
**

_Chapter 14_

Clint stood over Peter's body, holding the lamp in one hand with Loki across from him. The Frost Giant was in full regalia, complete with his ram's horn helmet, cape, and even a fake visual of his old mind staff. He poised perfectly within Peter's line of sight the minute Star-Lord roused. Clint had to fight back his laughter. He nearly shook apart with it. Both of his lips squeezed tight, wedged between his teeth with sheer determination to not give up the game. He lifted the lamp a little higher and gave Loki the go ahead.

"ATTACK!" Clint screamed. The lamp sailed through the air, hit the floor, and exploded with a crash louder than a shot gun blast. Quill shot up, Clint grabbed him by the shoulders and kicked him of the bed. Tangled in his blankets, and gyrating in confusion, Quill tried to get his bearings. Standing over him like a specter was none other than Loki Laufeyson. Peter screamed, groped around for the gun Clint had taken away from him and tripped over himself to get away. In his utter panic, he did the only logical thing that came to his mind: he found the closest window and threw himself right out of it.

Clint's mouth dropped. He looked at Loki, who dropped his persona back to the short-sleeved clothing he originally wore and watched as Quill slid right over the banister. There was a third crash as he rebounded off the awning below them and at last settled on the dust below.

"Oops." Clint said.

"He deserves it." Loki replied, unaffected. He climbed through the open window and ended up on the porch, talking as he went. "You go back down. I will meet you on the street. I fear if we do not stop him now, he may attempt to escape from this charade."

Clint snorted a little, and then burst out laughing. He had no idea Peter's reaction could be so explosive. It was a mean trick, but throwing the guy out a window hadn't exactly been part of the plan. Clint hurried outside, hoping that Loki's present wouldn't send the Guardian racing off into the night without the rest of his clothes on. At least Clint had the forethought to grab the pile on his way out.

"You couldn't just say hi like a normal person?! What the Hell, Clint?!"

Barton heard the shouting before he reached the street. He diverted temporarily to shell out some units to the barkeep for thrashing the place and went outside. A few patrons pressed in around the windows to watch the goings on.

"If you would answer that little switch known as a transceiver, you might have noticed we had attempted that!"

"You didn't have to throw me out a window!"

"I believe, you _jumped_ out the window."

Clint arrived in the lane only to come face to face with himself. Apparently Loki thought it better to have Peter look up and see Barton standing over him rather than the adopted son of Odin. The minute the real Barton appeared, though, Quill's confusion escalated to astronomical proportions. His head whipped between the two of them in utter confusion. During one such transition, Loki returned to his true form and when Quill saw that, he screamed and threw himself against Clint. He tried to drawl the gun he did not have, because he had no pants either, and ended up pointing his finger as if it might be loaded.

Loki's brow arched. "Really?"

"There could be one really screwed up raccoon with a sniper rifle behind this finger, so you just watch your step!" Quill exclaimed.

Clint tapped his shoulder and Peter glanced over his shoulder at him. First, Barton handed over his pants. Peter put them on with one hand, the other finger-gun held steady on the Frost Giant. Next came his shirt, which he slipped on also. Clint helped feed his arms into his leather jacket, kept his gun belt, and started off for the light side of the moon. "Come on, Quill. Leave your finger on Loki if it makes you feel better."

"Clint! Hey, wait up!" Peter searched around in his pockets for whatever else Barton might have taken from him. He trotted after the archer, leaving Loki to follow behind. A few of the local bar's patrons peaked their heads out to see the commotion but none bothered to butt in. They knew well enough that when a guy went frying through a plate glass window, it was better not to pick a fight with the man responsible.

"I gave you one job, Pete, because I thought for some reason you could handle it." Clint said. He passed the center of town, left the peculiar fountain, and went straight for the brighter side of the moon. He needed some of that blue-sun heat back before he froze to death.

"Two questions, how did you get here? And why did you bring that guy?" Peter caught up with him as they crossed the town line.

Clint walked into sun for a while as he continued to hammer away at Star-Lord. "I supported you. When they said the last person who we should send after something like this is Peter Quill, I said you could handle it. I put my name to that."

"Awe, come on! Don't be like that!" Peter complained. He threw his hand back at Prism Row. "I was doing recon! That girl I was with had some good leads on Thanos' old crew and I was just about to nail it out of her."

Clint folded his arms, cocked his hip to one side and dropped his stare. "Really?" he drew out. "Nail it out of her? I'm sure that's exactly what you planned. Do you know what I've been through the last few months?" Clint turned in place, his frustration mounted to an astronomical level. He wasn't sure how he might feel seeing Star-Lord at last, but now that he did, he could hardly believe his own anger.

"I have been working! I've cleared four systems already!" Peter exclaimed. He looked over his shoulder at Loki who remained on the dark half of the moon with his arms folded. Peter hiked a thumb at him. "You do realize who that is, right?"

"Four systems means nothing when we have to go through over twelve thousand! And Loki's the only out here helping me track you down! What is so wrong with picking up your phone?"

"I worked very hard on those systems and nothing is wrong with my phone!" He pulled out his ship-to-ship mobile comm and checked the front face. He shook it a few times and turned it over in his hand. When he looked up the smile he had told the tale. "Huh, look at that. I swear it was working last night."

"Bull!" Clint said. He took a step forward body taught in aggression. Loki sailed closer should he need to separate them. "Do you have any idea how important this is! Did it ever cross your mind!" Clint grabbed the man's collar and shoved him back. Loki stepped in and put his hand forcibly on Clint's right arm but the archer refused to let go.

"This is _my life_! Not yours! I'm the one who is going to die if we don't figure this out and find the Infinity Gauntlet! The least you could do is actually pick up the phone when I call and not make me chase you down! Do you understand me?"

"Clint, I'm trying to do what I can. I am taking this seriously. I just—"

"Just what?! There's no excuse you can give me that's good enough." Clint growled.

Loki's grip tightened a little more. Cautiously he pulled Barton away, one finger at a time. When Clint at last pulled free, Loki spun him around and directed him back up the roadway toward Rizzo's diner. He cut his own angry glance at Star-Lord. "I have taken your keys. You cannot leave this world. And if, by some miracle, you manage to escape the atmosphere without us I will hunt you down a second time and I will not be satisfied merely dropping you from a window." Loki left those departing words in the Guardian's ears. He didn't stay to see how they struck Quill. He braved the overwhelming heat to return to Rizzo's place, the promise of fresh food tempting him.

Quill watched them for a while before deciding his best interest was not to run off. Sighing, he pulled his coat back off, hiked it over one shoulder, and trudged down the road. While this might not have been his idea of how a reunion with Clint would go, he couldn't exactly blame his friend either. Barton had enough stress on his life without Quill piling another shovel full of dirt on his headstone. He felt guilty having nothing to show for his work. And maybe Barton was right, he hadn't exactly put his whole heart into it. Seven years seemed like such a long time when the Sarhorn first showed up. The faster he found the Gauntlet, the longer he had to hold onto it. No one wanted a thing like that for too long, least of all him. It had target written all over it. The Kree, Thanos, Shi'ar, anyone with a ship, a grudge, and a mind for death would have no problem coming after the _Milano_ to steal the Infinity Gauntlet.

Quill mounted the metal stairs that lead into the diner and yanked the door open. Clint sat in a booth with Loki beside him. Rizzo was just dropping a couple full plates in front of them. The smell reminded him of Sunday morning.

"Oh, look who they found. Take a seat, Quill, I'll set up another tab." Rizzo told him. He reached over the counter to grab a pitcher of orange juice and deposited it and a trio of glasses on the formica table. Clint thanked him as Rizzo walked away to give them a little privacy.

"The usual." Quill told the cross dresser as he dropped into the red vinyl. He poured himself a glass and chugged half of it. Across from him Clint chewed silently and didn't look far beyond the ring of maple syrup on his own plate unless he was reaching over to steal a slice of bacon. Loki moved the little plate of it closer to Clint's hand and chewed threw his own meal. It was decidedly less grandiose, but then again Rizzo didn't exactly revere Loki the way he did Barton. Quill ended up with a similar disappointment when the only thing the kitchen supplied for his own hunger was two buttered slices of toast and a jar of hot sauce. Peter looked up to complain, saw the murderous look in Rizzo's eyes, and decided against it. He forwent the peculiar hot sauce and chewed his toast gratefully.

"I'm sorry." Clint said when Rizzo left again. He sat back, having consumed four thick pieces of French toast, no less than half a cup of syrup, butter, and a quarter pound of bacon. He drained the last bit of his first glass of juice and poured himself a second.

"You have no reason to apologize to him." Loki whispered, not exactly privately.

"No, I do. That was mean what I did, and I apologize. I've been cooped up a while, Pete, and I took that, and me being hungry, out on you. I shouldn't have done that." Clint said. He set his glass down again, somewhat disappointed Rizzo hadn't spiked it with vodka, and scrubbed a hand through the long whiskers on his chin. He had to get himself a shave while they were off the ship.

"It's all right." Quill told him. "Not the first time a guy pulled me out of bed and certainly not the first time I fell out a window."

"I imagine it will not be the last, either." Loki smirked.

Peter laughed. "I hope not! Life's not worth livin' less you're havin' some fun, right? Hey, I heard Vanaheim got attacked. What happened?"

Clint nodded. "Twice now. The first caught us off guard. They destroyed almost twenty percent of the new armada. Tony's secret project's still all right, which is all that matters. Alfheimr's defending us now. The Kree tried to slip under the radar a second time, but Tony's new systems caught onto it. Bruce Hulked out and went postal on their flagship. Unfortunately, they took off with him still on board."

"The Hulk's missing?" Peter whistled, hardly believing it.

"He can take care of himself. He won't let Bruce come out until he knows they're safe, but that is the gist of it. They sent a whole fleet of Alheimr ships after them. Logan and Storm are leading the search." Clint didn't say what he wanted to; that Peter would know all of this if he'd bothered to check in more than once every three or four months. Getting upset wasn't going to help them. He was concerned about Bruce, but not overtly so. Clint and Tony once took off on a Kree ship accidentally. They were found a few hours later not too far from Earth but that didn't mean the entire team wasn't terrified about their wellbeing. The Hulk was more than prepared to handle what a Kree warrior may strike him with.

"All serious," Clint said, "tell me what you have so far."

Peter reached up, dragged a hand through the short auburn hair on his head and leaned against the window. Just outside the swirling moon sands gathered in the occasional dust devil which skipped across the landscape. Someplace beyond them the rest of the guardians were enjoying their short respite. "It's not much, Clint." Star-Lord admitted. His eyes remained fixed in that distance to prevent coming into contact with Barton's utter disappointment. That was a sadness he could not willingly face. "We found a few scatters of information. Picked up a cosmic trail near Valmore. We followed that for a while. A long while, but it bottomed out on us. It was a dead end around Felden, in the Oore system. We've jockeyed ourselves around every backwater hole since then trying to find it again, Clint, but we made it all the way here with no luck." Finally Quill faced him. "I'm sorry."

"I need Bruce's map. I'm not sure where any of those systems are," Clint admitted, trying to gloss over his disappointment. The food did help dampen the blow. Part of him, though, knew that no matter how much Peter tried to suck up to him, Star-Lord stepped into unforgivable territory. Clint wasn't sure what he expected coming all the way out in this abandoned corner of the universe. Maybe he hoped that Peter did have the Gauntlet and simply didn't want to share. Clint might not have blamed him for that. There were a number of individuals on the War Council Clint wouldn't give a shiny penny to, let alone hand over the Infinity Gauntlet.

"It's weird to think you weren't raised out here like me." Quill said.

"I might act like it, but no. I wasn't. Did that girl actually give you anything useful? Besides anything to do with physical traits?" Clint pushed his plate toward the center of their table. Taking that as a sign, Rizzo came over and removed the empty plates. He set a second one down, this one also holding a three-high stack of French toast. He winked in Clint's direction and retreated.

"You really gonna eat that?" Quill asked, already reaching for a fork.

Clint took the stack. Maybe he didn't intend to eat it at first, but if it came to between Star-Lord and him, Clint would find room and eat it himself. The more he listened to this round-about journey of Peter Quill, the more he came to terms with the very long months to come in space. He might as well take advantage of the hot meal while he had it.

"So the reality of our predicament is this: we know nothing." Loki summarized.

"When you say it like that, it makes it sound like I haven't been putting my butt on the line." Quill protested.

"You've had trouble?" Clint asked.

"Maybe not directly, but we've been running from it." The story changed. Clint held out for more alterations. It didn't take long for Quill to break. "All right, so we heard from this guy outside Byuk who said his buddy ran into some trouble from a scythe-holding wacko. Apparently the knife guy shouted something about the coming depths of darkness as the herald of Galactus. That was only two systems from us. We figured it was best to keep ahead of him. By now, I think he knows what we're after."

Systems, planets, places Clint had never heard of sent his mind spinning. This was Loki's expertise. As much as Clint had a unique relationship with someone they met almost everywhere they stopped, he had little to no understanding of the layout of the billions of star systems. Then again, he couldn't be perfect at everything. That was Tony's trait.

"There will be four such heralds." Loki confirmed. "Their usual method is to warn of the death to come. If this is not meant to occur for another six Midgardian cycles, I cannot understand why one would be seen so quickly. He feeds in a separate dimension as yet, is that not so?"

"I think that's right." Clint said. He didn't really know. He left all the outlandish theories to the science twins.

"Well, I don't know what to tell you. That's what I heard."

Clint shrugged. "All right, here's the plan. We are going to keep our ship parked here. Riz can look after it. Besides, it sticks out like a sore thumb anyway. Loki and I are hopping into the Milano with you. We are going to lay out one really big map and start crossing things off. I brought a program that Rocket can use. It inputs all the data of where the Infinity Stones have been found in the past, then it overlays those onto the Gauntlet. It should give us a good starting point."

"That all sounds very technical." Quill said.

"Tell me about it." Clint threw up his hand and flagged down Rizzo. "That all sound ok with you?" He asked. There was no surprise in assuming Rizzo had listened into the entire conversation. He might have been a friend on Earth, but that didn't mean he wasn't still a source of information. Only two of the best ears in the galaxy, and the inability to avoid listening into a conversation, made Rizzo that way. Rizzo popped out from behind the counter and grinned.

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thank you for reading! Please review too!


	17. Chapter 15

_I Like this Little Thank You corner:) I think I'll keep it up!_

discordchick: Oh, Quill's poor, misguided attempts at helping. I think that's why I love him.

amy. .9: Oh yes! Do watch GotG! You will get a kick out of it for sure! And thank you for the wonderful compliment:)

Ms. Hawkeye Thank you for reviewing and sticking with this! Things to come will hold a mighty big punch!

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**I Can Hear the Drums  
**

Chapter 15

Tony sat in his private room with the glass of black scotch in his hand, considering just what he planned to do with it. He knew what Clint would say, which was the exact reason he hadn't contacted his friend and sober partner just yet. Clint would want him to put it down. Honor this little agreement they made in the rush of the moment; sobriety. The word tasted as bad as dry wine when he said it. He didn't have an alcohol problem.

At least, he didn't think so.

Stark returned the glass to his desk. He'd played this to and fro game for a couple hours now, as the artificial night fell down over the entire ship. Those who hardly ever slept, secluded themselves to the lower decks, allowing the mere mortals to have an uninterrupted eight hours of recharge. Tony was supposed to be taking advantage of that time. Instead, he often found himself lying awake at night, thinking of all those things he had already lost. It had been forty three days since Bruce Banner transformed into the Hulk and disappeared into the bow of a fleeing Kree Warship. In that time, an innumerable amount of events took place.

The Shi'ar Xavier anticipated to either remain neutral or join the War Council, instead turned the tables on everyone and aligned themselves with the Kree. They wanted to preserve peace and humanity in the galaxy. To do so, disarming the forces of Midgard seemed the only logical choice. The Skrull, who had to this point avoided taking sides, finally played their own hand, and were unsurprisingly joined to the ranks of the Kree. Three superior powers all bore down on Midgard's infant armada, the ships from the Nova Corps, a weak space fighter presence of Asgard, and the very backbone of Alfheimr. The lesser equipped galaxies of Oore, Dark, and Red all pledged what little they might spare, but they were no great armaments. For so long, their disputes rested at their own worldly borders. With the Nova Corps around to take care of trawlers, they required no need for great ships. What little they brought, Tony worked endlessly to retrofit.

Alfheimr, the once silent planet tucked in the very edge of the star charts, had become their savior. Rinon's ships were powerful and incredibly fast. No one knew precisely how many he had, not even the War Council. He might even fill the galaxy with their numbers. His silence on the topic frightened some. They questioned his motives, his loyalty, his very ambition. If this went sideways and they placed their entire faith in him, would they suffer at the hands of a dictator? Would he become the new Malaketh, a dark elf meant to destroy them all? No one had the answer to that but the leader himself, and unsurprisingly, he wasn't talking. The only ones who might support his character directly, was a motley crew at best.

Tony had met him on the field of battle when the Elf rode to Clint's rescue all those years ago. Thor had made a pact between Asgard and Alfheimr with Rinon, declaring peace between their nations. Odin, himself, owed his life to Rinon. They'd fought in the first Frost Giant war together, where Odin found and took Loki in. Rinon risked his own life to save the Asgardian king then. Such a favor was not easily forgotten. For the safety of their people, the lone queen Aralahael returned to Alfheimr with no plans to leave its border. Kings and queens needed to rule, to keep balance, and to guard those beneath them. She had no such talent for war, like her predecessor had. She left the efforts in Rinon's hands.

There was a gentle knock on Tony's door. It was either an Elf coming to fetch him with no idea of the proper protocol for Midgardian time zones, or another lost soul looking for commiseration in the dead of night. He took the glass off the table with the bottle of booze, and slipped them into his drawer. He thought of Clint's father as he did it. The man was a drunk. Even decades after his death, Tony had found four forgotten liquor-filled bottles stashed around his trailer. Clint only wanted the best for him. Hiding his bottles like that old man did only helped cement the archer's fears.

"Come in." He said.

The door sprang back to reveal a tall, blond figure. His chest was framed in a light grey shirt, and a pair of navy sweats that served as sleepwear this far away from the nearest Walmart. Steve leaned against the jamb. "I thought I might find you up."

"Cause you were? What, not off writing a VE-day speech for all the little people we will thank when this has ended?" Tony leaned back in his chair, and stacked his legs on top of his desk. The holographic, digital files scattered around him.

"You aren't packing to follow Linnor's ship."

"I've already packed." Tony replied.

Steve harrumphed. He took a few strides inside, and let the door close automatically behind him. Tony only had one chair in the room, so he headed to the small port-hole window and looked down into the vast Vanaheim oceans where they orbited. The world was appreciably quieter after the second Kree attack. All of their work shifted underground, and progressed at an astounding speed. Alfheimr's new masons combined with the Drio's dwarves in such numbers, that competency and speed were driven to other-worldly standards. By the end of the Midgardian week, they expected one quarter of the new fleet to be complete. In a month, it would be not only finished, but in the air and operational. How Rinon had churned out such efficiency in his people, Steve could only speculate.

Tony's special project, a ship that could take all the energy of Galactus and feed it into a continuous loop to trap the being for all time, was the top of their priority list. He'd worked day and night since the minute Clint left to sort out his calculations and higher mathematics to make sure it worked seamlessly. His hands were tied, though, unable to stay planet side and see the Bethlehem Star completed himself. The front needed Banner and Banner wasn't there. Tony was going to correct that himself though Steve tried to convince him out of it.

"Are we doing the right thing?" Steve asked, looking down at that world.

Tony chuckled, and considered busting out that bottle of scotch.

Steve looked at him through the reflection of the porthole glass. "I'm serious. Maybe Ligsri is right. None of us know anything about these Sarhorns, who they are, or where they come from. Why are we banking so much on them?" He turned away from the world now to consider his friend. "Tony, how'd we even get here?"

Never the one to miss an opportunity, Stark smirked. "Well, when two scientific minds really love each other, they come together and have what is called a brain child. And from that one encounter, a spaceship is born, which aligns even the evilest of powers with the good, like Loki Laufeyson and Clint Barton."

Steve didn't take the bait. "Are we sure we understood him right? I mean, we were all so focused on Clint and getting him better."

"You know what your problem is? You are letting a Frost Giant, whom I don't even completely understand when it comes to why he agreed to join us, get into your skull."

The Captain shrugged. He was too weary with his heavy thoughts to argue.

Tony went on, "I know what I heard. And I know what I saw. I might have no idea how, or why, or what the motives are for the Sarhorns to tell us everything we know. But I trust my own experience. I saw that thing climbing out of this black hole, and try to swallow up a billion lives. If we stop now, and that happens, how could we ever sleep at night knowing we could have stopped it and gave up trying?"

Steve folded his arms. Tony Made incredibly valid points. "I thought I was the one working on a VE-Day speech."

Tony grunted. "Yeah, well, I was brooding. You bothered me."

"Thinking about them out there?"

"You'll have to be more specific."

Steve pushed off from the window, crossed to the bed, and sat down. He let his upper half fall into the mattress. He and Tony might have been partners, teammates that were nearly close enough to be called friends. But the man was also incredibly frustrating. He wasn't sure why he ended up in Stark's room for consolation in this hour of doubt. Maybe because he'd tried Natasha first, and she turned him away at the door. She planned to leave with Tony by the artificial morning. It bruised him a little to feel that rejection. He wasn't crazy. She was a legitimately married woman who once had a fling with him. Her heart was never in it, not the way it had been with Clint, but Steve made the tragic mistake of getting too close to her. She wasn't called the Black Widow for nothing. He'd actually fallen into that trap, which had claimed so many other targets in her past. She had the keen ability to put on that happy face and continue on, as if the entire world revolved around one man, and one man alone. The time that she let herself pretend to adore Steve, was the happiest in the Captain's life. He couldn't seem to abandon that hope. Merely being around her was like a drug he couldn't shake. Then, with Clint's second marriage, it seemed Steve had everything he could have ever wanted. Natasha clung to him more, seeing Clint's happiness and never wanting to interrupt it. When Marie died, all of Steve's dreams died with her.

"How does he do it?" Steve asked.

Tony opened his drawer to consider the bottle hidden inside, and then he wondered a second time why he was hiding a bottle at all. "Who does what?"

Steve sat up. "Clint. How does he do this to us? The entire reason we're even here is to try and keep him from jumping. The entire reason we even got here was to try and save him from cancer. He has more friends off of our planet than on it. Every girl that meets him wants him. How did this happen?"

Tony slid the drawer shut. "If you would get over yourself for a minute and think of the big picture, then you might realize that we aren't just trying to save Clint. We're all apart of this stupid galaxy. All of our lives are on the line. It's weird that I'm saying this to you. Seems like we had this conversation before but I was on the receiving end of you. Besides, that's his super power."

Steve blinked, but didn't say anything. The concept never really dawned on him that way.

"I _never_ liked the guy, not at first. He came to me for help, and I told him no. That decision actually almost killed him too. His father hated him. I can't tell you how many times he left Clint bleeding on the kitchen floor. Everyone in SHIELD turned against him. Fury turned his back on him. The world itself, the entire population of planet Earth, and, for a little while, myself included, all looked at Clint like a two-bit has been, ex-Avenger. You did that too. His own brother took from him the only real and great thing in his life, and murdered it before his eyes. Our government arrested him and whipped him, in public, as a traitor. He had a wife. Twice. He saw his ex murdered in his arms in the last big war and the other died the same day as his baby."

Tony was digging up history. He reminded Steve of Clint's abusive father, the day he was possessed by Loki and nearly killed everyone on the Helicarrier, and the time he left SHIELD, the Avengers, and the hero business behind to become the world's most hated person just to uproot the HYDRA infection. People robbed him when they passed him, beat him senseless, shot him, stabbed him, and left him breathless in emergency rooms all because they hated him. And Tony was also right; for a little while, Steve had fed into the lies, though he would never admit it. That was a darkness in his heart he could never quite escape.

"And what do we know about Clint now? He wanted my help, and even knowing me is what nearly killed him. The people he killed under Loki's possession were all members of HYDRA he'd been investigating all along. He took all the world's hate on himself, all so he could find HYDRA for this team and take them out. The only reason our government took him, was because he helped save thousands of mutant lives by getting them out of our country. That's his super power. He doesn't _try_ to be a hero. He _is_ one. Even when he doesn't know anyone is watching. He's our humanity, Steve. A check and balance. He is the only one on this team who will call us out on our own bull. You're America's boy, that's your agenda. I'm rich, I want to change things. That's my agenda. Clint . . . He doesn't have an agenda. He came from nothing, and there is no reason he wouldn't go back to that to save even a single life."

Steve chewed on those hard words Tony pushed at him. He knew Stark was right. He told himself all those same things in the past. Clint could never be assigned a value to the team, he was that important. He'd been there since the very beginning, risking his life and limb to support them every single day. He didn't always make it out unscathed, and very rarely did they leave a mission with Clint completely intact. But that never mattered to him. In fact, he tried to hide his humanity more than he displayed it. In one of their darkest days, when Scarlet Witch had literally taken over the world, and the only way to stop her rested in a death sentence, Clint accepted the job with no second thought. He would make that sacrifice play every single time. Steve and he were a lot alike in that respect. Perhaps that is what attracted Natasha to him at all.

"You sound very red-white-and-blue when you take that kind of tone," Steve said, smiling.

"Yeah, well, I was brooding, and that's my brother you're talking about."

"You aren't actually related."

"Neither is Thor and Loki."

"Yeah, but they were at least raised together."

Tony leaned forward. He pulled down the collar of his shirt to display the ring of rope burn still circling his neck. "When that Kree hanged me in the middle of his warship after attacking New York, just to destroy the confidence of the rest of our heroes, Clint shot him in the face, on live television, and saved my life. You didn't. T'Challa didn't. And Hank Pym sure as hell didn't either. Then Clint found his way on board, piloted a spaceship out of our atmosphere, and crashed it, imagining that he was never going to make it out alive. Then he found me, dragged me out of the rubble with my broken neck, and bartered us a trip back home_ from Mars_." Tony rested back in his chair. "No, we weren't raised together, but he's still my brother."

Tony's desk pulsed suddenly at the far left corner. A communication was coming in from a different ship. He dropped his feet to the floor, hovered his hand over the beacon, and pulled up. The call log expanded to hover over his desk. Clint's face appeared.

"Speak of the devil, we were talking about you," Tony said. "I think someone on the playground is jealous."

"Oh, shut up, Tony," Steve said, though he smiled. He stood from the bed and walked over for the camera to pick him up. Clint looked a little worse for wear. The last time they spoke, he explained the problem with the onboard automated piloting system. He was forced into twelve hour flight shifts with Loki. The toll was apparent.

"How you holding up?" Tony asked, masking the concern in his voice.

"_Guess who I found?"_ Clint asked, ignoring his question.

"Finally!" Steve exclaimed. "Where are you?"

"_Cross Lake. It's a moon between Oore, Hyth, and Red_. _Denali Rizzo, Bill's cousin? He has a diner here, and gave me the tip."_

Steve wasn't familiar with Cross Lake in particular, but the corner of those three systems did bring something to his mind. "Clint, that's awful close to the Black Hole."

_"I know. It's only a day's travel from here. Pete says he doesn't have the Gauntlet yet. I'm leaving our Quinjet here with Denali, and the two of us are boarding the Milano. I think Pete's holding something out on us, but I don't know just what it is yet. I'm going to snoop around once I'm on board. Any word on Bruce?"_

"We've been tracking him for the past month. Finally the ships are gathering together. Rinon sent two teams, one with Linnor flying lead, and the other with a friend of his, Lirrie, in a support ship. They're joining Logan, T'Challa, and Storm in one of our new long range cruisers and heading straight past Midgard. They think the Kree are operating out of an old base near Svartalfheim's moon, Krith. We'll know more by tomorrow when I head out with Natasha and Rinon."

Clint nodded as he absorbed the information. Krith made sense. He didn't know it personally, but the Svartalfheim he did. It was the place where Malekith and the Dark Elves were banished to by an ancient, and still living, former king of Alfheimr by the name of Doodle Bygrove. As far as Clint knew, the larger world was uninhabitable, making the moon a logical choice for a base of operations. It was strategically promising for anyone hoping to control the Mars Portal, as only Midgard and it's cluster of planets stood poised between both Krith and the entire Kree Empire.

_"Have we sent any support back home? That's awful close if they feel like squeezing us in."_ Clint asked.

Tony answered, "That's Logan's job. Once they find Bruce, they're going to scout the place out. If it's nothing, they stay by Earth. If it's something, we're going to have to deal with it which is why Rinon, Tasha and I are bringing up the rear. We leave in a few hours."

Clint looked down as he turned the notion over in his mind. Something wasn't sitting right with him, but he didn't share precisely what that may be._ "What about your project? The Bethlehem Star? Is it ready to suck Galactus into a vacuum?"_

"Almost. Faraday brought some of the Alfheimr scientists with him. Between them and the Nova Core, I finally have someone that understands what I'm trying to do. They think the system will be operational in the next three weeks."

Steve agreed. "I don't like the idea of splitting this up on multiple fronts, but that's what we've been given, and we have to make do."

Clint nodded his understanding. He raised his head, rubbed the scruff on his chin and said, "_All right. I'll check in again when I know more. Tony, start trying to design ways to track the Gauntlet. I was thinking of using the old plans from Loki's staff, and how we tracked that before. Do you have those? Keep it buried though, I don't want Pym accidentally getting his hands into something he can't control. You know what? Do me a favor and send him to Cross Lake. He can pick up the cruiser Loki and me are leaving behind. This is a good time to get started really tracking the Gauntlet, if he's off your ship."_

"Since I'm leaving with Rinon, I can pick up whatever equipment I need while I'm by Midgard." Tony replied. "It's not going to be easy. Bruce cracked the code first. I'll backtrack through his data and see what I can manage. The other problem is this scale. I don't have sensors placed throughout the galaxy, monitoring gamma data. Even if I did, the fluctuations would be astronomical. To coin a phrase, that is."

_"What do you need to make it easier?"_

Tony shrugged. "An Infinity Stone."

Clint laughed, shaking his head. Once the stones were assembled in the Gauntlet, a great power was required to force them to separate. Vision, who had been entrusted with the Mind Stone for years lost the power when the first Infinity War struck them. In essence, Tony's request was a pipe dream. _"Ok, sure, I'll get right on that. I've got to run. Keep me posted. Clint out."_

"He seemed confident." Steve remarked as Clint faded away.

Tony didn't want to say what he thought. He wanted to get Steve out, if only to dive into the waiting bottle in the darkness of his thoughts. "Look, I'm beat. I might actually sleep for a little bit, so clear out and gimme a shot at it."

Steve was surprised at the idea, but relented. He pushed off the desk, and took a long fading glance at the spinning Vanaheim world. "Try to get some sleep, Tony. And be careful out there," The Captain said, then disappeared through the door.

Tony settled into the darkness a second time. He'd been charged with an important task that same day Clint's death sentence was signed. He needed to build a ship. But not just any ship; this one required specifications that the minds of mortal men had not even begun to imagine. The inner workings were complex, scientifically improbable, and never before attempted by even the most advanced minds in the galaxy. Only Tony Stark's Sarhorn-given equations held any hope of completing it, and trusting those detailed workings to others had only resulted in disaster. In essence, he'd been told to build an Ark, without boards, nails, hammers, or help of any kind.

The Kree and Shi'ar were banding together like a tangle of attack dogs. Haladarrel was dead, and word reached them that Doodle Bygrove, the distant relation of Haladarrel, was now in poor health. The old elf was nearing seventy-five hundred years. He'd taken the murder of his king and kin very hard.

Tony's hands were tied to his desk. He wanted to work on the ship, but he couldn't spend more than a few days on Vanaheim without risking a fast old age. The dwarves and elves helped where they could, but he needed to be there, to touch and feel and make sure every part of the ship's containment unit worked the way he required it too. Bruce and Clint were gone. He couldn't trust Hank Pym. T'Challa became more distant the longer he struggled with his coming betrayal. And now, even Steve had his doubts. The only one he had left to really rely on was Rinon, and even that former king suffered heavy scrutiny at present.

Only adding to Tony's overwhelming anguish was his own mortality. The worlds might make a great deal of Clint's mortality, which was a keen focus for Stark, but they often overlooked something he tried to hide himself. Tony wasn't anymore super-soldier than Pepper Potts. He might have full use of his body again years after his neck snapped under the Kree warrior's noose, but that didn't mean he wasn't still an old man and getting older. He had a knee full of arthritis, a shooting pain down his spine form and old chip fracture, and a wrist full of bony spurs. All the experts say that drinking kills livers. Well, his already took a nose dive. Keeping Clint alive was a worthy distraction from his own looming death. Tony Stark had liver cancer, and short of some young buck donating him a new one, or him magically regrowing one, he was going to die before Galactus ever showed up.

He opened his drawer, removed the bottle, and poured himself a glass. He was already dying. What did a little more poison in the pot matter? He'd ask Clint to forgive him for it later.

:(:):(:):

Jetlag didn't exist in space. At least, that was Natasha's opinion. She deserved the ability to sleep when she planned to, wake when she wanted, and not be interrupted by the constant movement of those creatures who did neither. That, unfortunately, wasn't the case. Steve was up late, not a surprise, but the last thing she needed was to stroke his tender affections. It was cute on Earth, but she'd moved on, and he obviously hadn't. If he'd been any other ex-boyfriend, she might have been more forceful, and dangled him from a skyscraper and left him there. Clint wanted her to be nice, never an easy task, but she decided to humor his sensibilities.

Her room was no longer safe from his attempts at a late night conversation, so she decided to work out instead. She'd spent much of her life keeping her physical abilities at peak performance without Clint as her partner. While a different routine wasn't easy to fall into, it would help her grow into a more efficient fighter. Perhaps she'd even find one of Xavier's mutants to spar against.

Within fifteen minutes of reaching the gym, setting her things out, and combing the participants for a worthy opponent, she saw him. Steve, apparently having little success in other conversations, made his way into the gym as well. Inwardly, she groaned. He did little else nowadays that didn't include firing his bow at every target he could think to create. The video of him getting an official beat down from Clint's masterful arts had affected him greatly. Natasha watched it. Twice. While there was an air of importance to the lesson, she knew that Clint enjoyed it, just a little bit. Some people liked to give him grief for being a mere man, but it was displays like that which reminded the world of his value, not as a person, but as an Avenger. Besides, what human with a XX chromosome didn't enjoy watching their husband destroy their wife's ex?

It was a typical thought in her mind. She cared little about the feelings of others, especially those she'd moved on from. She didn't like to dwell on past relationships, as, more often than not, they were based on a fake identity to begin with. She held no real animosity for the Captain. He simply fell for her like every other man did. It was good to know her old talents hadn't gone by the wayside, even after Clint made an honest woman out of her. She might have even decided to spar with the Captain, but while her own feelings might have subsided long before, his had not. It wouldn't be fair.

Deciding against staying, she packed her things into her towel, and slipped out the side door. There were still four other massive training rooms to tuck into that didn't include watching Captain America, diving from a forty foot drop, only to miss his ceiling-arranged targets. No one could say he wasn't trying his hardest to be Clint's sacrificial lamb but the facts remained. Clint was irreplaceable.

The first ante-room held a few of Nova Corps' men, all full of sweat and missing their shirts. Some dove behind their lockers, as if to hide themselves from the sight of a woman. No matter where they existed in the galaxy, men couldn't help certain sensibilities. Others, however, noticed the illustrious Black Widow enter their midst, and hiked a leg up on the shared bench, raising an eyebrow seductively in her direction. Natasha strode by and ignored them. She still had that heart-stopping swagger.

Natasha passed the line of them, and exited their side of the gym to enter the smaller women's quarters a flight of stairs below. She sought out a quiet corner in the lines of endless lockers where the lights had flickered out with their unfired motion sensors. They blinked awake at her entry, and illuminated the little bench she sank against. Not for the first time, she considered her poor decision making.

She should have gone off to the little Svartalfheim moon with Logan, Storm, and T'Challa. Linnor would have been entertainment enough. She might have insisted in following Loki and Clint. Barton had set himself against that. They might have been married, but he still wanted to keep her at a distance. He said it would help her get strong enough to live without him. She said he was full of crap. She'd survived well and good for the last half a century with no one in her life. Natasha didn't intend on losing Clint at all. His death, should it come, may hurt for a season, but she was confident in her ability to overcome that and move on with her life. He'd called her bluff on that point, and maybe he was right.

A pair of knuckles rebounded off one of the tin structures, drawing Natasha's attention to a newcomer. Her water bottle slipped from her fingers, and splashed against the floor. Slowly, she got to her feet.

"It's you! What are you doing here? How did you get here?" Her voice took all the authority of a child as it escaped her taught vocal cords. Across from her, the Sarhorn leaned on the row of lockers. His hands remained stuck into the pockets of his red hoodie sweatshirt. Tufts of gold and brown hair peaked out from beneath the covered hood.

"Hello again." He said.

"It isn't time yet!" She shouted, finding more strength in it. Natasha took a step toward him. She began to shake with fear and excitement. "Has something happened?"

"Nothing has happened yet." He told her.

"Then what – "

"I have a message for you."

Her throat ran dry. The last time he brought news, the galaxy was thrown into utter chaos. She regretted ever leaving Earth to find the creatures. They'd brought her only pain and misery, interspersed with moments of happiness. A dark cloud overshadowed every good thing in her life now, because of the messages he'd brought them.

"You can save him, Natasha Romanov. But you must listen very closely. What is to come will not be easy. You must do exactly as I say. Things are changing. Time is going to shift." The Sarhorn whispered, leaning closer. He spoke like an old friend and conspirator. A gleam of enchantment crossed his face, and seemed to beckon her in. Natasha's entire body lightened. If it were possible, she might have floated away. "What may happen is only one of many paths to take, but you must do as I say. You are not the only moving cog in this great clockwork. You must make allies, but you must also learn to fear."

* * *

What? WHAT!?

What does this mean? What does this change for their supposed future, predicted in the prologue? Is Natasha the key to stopping it all? AND OMG TONY! Aging sucks, and it was only a matter of time before his lifestyle caught up with him.

Next time: Clint discovers a secret, and Loki's past comes knocking


	18. Chapter 16

Thank you too!::

Alethea13 (Oh the things to come will spin even worse realities than those already presented!)

tanchik (the future is ever changing!)

amy. .9 (aging is never fun, as a reader pointed out. definitely upping the level of visceral emotions in this one!)

Ms. Hawkeye (OHHHHH my goodness. expect more sucker punches to come)

Fury-Natalia (hehehehehe. enjoy!)

* * *

**I Can Hear the Drums  
**

Chapter 16

The _Milano_ wasn't nearly as large as the _Gateway_, or even the retrofitted _Blackbirds_, but she did have the benefit of compartmentalization, which was an overall lack in the _Quinjets_. There were two main decks. The upper deck included the forward facing cabin, and seats for four crew members. A bulkhead separated the cabin from the rest of the floor, which included the war room, one state room, and a few auxiliary gun mounts of Rocket's design. The lower deck held the general cargo and four more staterooms. The big selling point, in Clint's mind, for the upgrade to a bigger ship, was a door between him and Loki. It was getting easier to live with him, but having Loki in his face for a full twenty four hours a day, when the Frost Giant hardly ever had the need to sleep, was more than Clint could handle.

Being reunited with Rocket, Gamora, Drax, and Groot came with its own set of problems, mainly on Loki's end. Apparently, and unsurprisingly, Loki's presence left a particular bad taste in Gamora's mouth. Drax, for once, didn't mind him whatsoever. Rocket entertained the idea of poking the Frost Giant's ego, and Groot . . . well, Groot was Groot.

"So, we got this rule on board; you come up and try to get with us, you need to do something _for_ us. It's a courtesy thing. Paying your way." Rocket said as he led them on board. He pointed out the staterooms on either side. "Girls, plants, and animal species on the left, narcissistic guys that bang chicks and take everything literally, go on the right. You pick which side you wanna be on, but lemme warn you, Quill's room is a frat pad. Don't click on a black light in there."

Loki analyzed the room from the safety of the narrow hall. The mere smell was enough to prevent his ever stepping within. "Is there nothing more reasonable?" he complained.

"No. This whole place is disgusting." Rocket replied. "About that rule, newbies clean the john. Word to the wise, I shed. It's a personal problem."

Loki's look of extreme disgust nearly made Clint agree to the terms. However, he was not about to be stuck as Rocket's private cleaning crew. "That's not happening, Rocket."

The mutated raccoon seemed crestfallen. "Aww, come on! It's a –_hee hee_—it's a rule."

Clint's face didn't change.

Rocket grumbled. "Fine, suck all the fun out of it."

He took the vertical staircase straight to the upper deck, where Gamora and Drax both sat around the tables of star charts and holo-monitors. Quill was playing with a small sphere, edging it back and forth in his hands while he considered all the plans. He hardly acknowledged them. Either Clint's earnestness finally hit home, or he had a few secrets left to share, which deserved some chewing on.

Gamora glared at Loki's arrival. "Look who the universal trash dropped off. A mortal fool."

Loki smirked, striding to her. "Gamora, Thanos' ward. I have missed that alluring menace in your voice when you uttered my name in secrecy."

"Alluring?" She exclaimed, cocking her head. "Is that how I sounded? Don't you forget, I'm the one that dug you out of that Frost Giant Hell you formed the minute Odin released you into the vacuum of space!" She stood, her hands braced against the counter, to face off against him.

Loki, never one to avoid a fight he might find some enjoyment in, leaned closer. "And what thanks and praise I received at your master's side. A life of servitude and disdain, torture and starvation. I have never enjoyed a better imprisonment."

"If you'd just told him what he wanted like I said you should do, you would have never even seen the dark depths!" She shouted.

"If you hadn't turned me in, as I said, I might never have been in his debt to begin with!" Loki seethed.

Rocket's eyes widened. Clint folded his arms. Peter looked over from where he brooded, and even Drax and Groot seemed to comprehend the depths of what Loki and Gamora shared. The only ones not noticing the apparent peculiarity of it, were the participants themselves. It wasn't hard to assume the two had history. A complicated one, at that.

Clint knew very well, the only reason Loki came to Earth with the Mind Stone, was to conquer it for himself, and abduct the Tesseract for Thanos. Originally, he had decided to keep away from Midgard, Asgard, and all the Nine Realms for at least a century or more until he could create his own defenses. He'd been picked up by Thanos, however, after his fall from grace on Asgard, and was stolen into the tyrant's service much the same way Gamora had been.

Clint knew those shared memories once. Time, disuse, and a want to forget that connection he shared with the Frost Giant, made all the current revelations dredge up the past recollections.

"I told you to lie in that cell until I could orchestrate something, and you refused to believe me!" Gamora fired.

"A fancy surprise to that, given the long history I had with successful trust in friends."

The tennis match continued. One accusation after another sailed across the star chart battlefield, while their hot personalities blasted throughout the cabin. Had they been on the _Gateway_, Steve or Tony, even Bruce might have interrupted them by this point and gotten on with the heart of what Clint had come there to do.

However, they were far from the rest of the Avengers. This was the _Milano_, a new ship, a new team, and a new set of rules. The Guardians of the Galaxy were worse gossips than a school of mean, teenage girls. With all the information dropping all around them like care packages to a future black mail, not a single person was willing to break the argument up. Realistically, though, it was getting them nowhere, and time ticked inevitably against them. Someone had to step in, and since Peter was not going to be that person, the role fell on Clint's shoulders.

Barton grabbed Gamora first, and sat her back in the chair. She chopped him in the soft spot along his side, where an old injury left him one rib down. He cringed and took it. To Loki, he made a few signs and pointed out a chair. If Thor's fallen brother didn't want to be jettisoned into open space, he was going to play nice. Eventually, he retreated. Everyone else groaned at the interruption of their entertainment.

"Oh, don't get your panties all into a bunch." Clint told them.

Drax's face screwed together. "Why should anyone wish that? That sounds horrible."

Clint rolled his eyes skyward. "As entertaining as it is to think that our girl Friday and Slim Shady have history, it's not getting us anywhere. Pete, is there an Infinity Stone in that sphere you aren't telling us about, or do you just like to hold it out of sentiment?"

Peter stopped rolling the ball. His eyes widned as, like a cornered animal he threw a rapid fire of glances at the other crew members. "Now, how the hell did you figure that one out?!"

Clint's jaw slackened. He'd meant it as a joke, given the conversation he'd just had with Tony and Steve the night before. Was it really possible that the one thing he realized he needed, was already on the ship?

Rocket jumped up in his suit and turned on the man. "You've had a Stone in that thing? The entire time?! Where did that come from?"

"I do not understand how we did not know." Drax said.

Gamora glared, and growled.

"Seriously, none of you knew that?" Clint looked at all of them in shock. He'd seen them play dumb before. This was not like those times. He dropped his hands against his sides. "Oh my God. This is it. We're doomed."

"How long have you had that thing, Quill?!" Rocket exclaimed.

The man shrugged. "I don't know, like a week? Or a month? Probably a couple months."

"Well, is this not a wonderful start to the worst organization available?" Loki pushed off of his corner and glanced at the sphere. He willed himself to see beyond that outer shell to the hidden jewel within. The Infinity Stones hadn't been separated from the Gauntlet in ten years. How Peter ended up with an individual Stone, Loki couldn't hope to guess.

Clint wasn't in the mood for guessing. "Where'd it come from?" he demanded.

Peter took a deep breath, a usual sign that he planned to spin another untrue tale, but Clint cut him off at the knees before he got the opportunity. "Don't tell me you came across it, that your third cousin in Nidavir traded you baseball cards for it, or that you just bedded a Xandarian for it. Give it to me straight the first time, Quill. Where did the Stone come from?"

The scavenger looked around the cabin as if he might find support to dig him out from beneath Clint's totalitarian authority, but only grim expressions darted toward him. Apparently, no one planned to help deflect the attention. Trapped, he sighed, lifted the orb, and deposited it into Clint's open palm. "I've had it for three years."

Standing in the middle of a Walmart during a Black Friday blowout held a similar amount of hysteria to what Clint now felt party to. Drax stood up and tore his steel chair in half. Rocket picked up a lead pipe and whacked Peter in the left shin. Gamora grabbed him by the throat and, not to be left out, Groot burst into a ball of sharp thorns and panicked. There were only certain fights Clint felt he had the expertise of saving individuals from, and this one in particular did not fit into that category. So he slipped beneath Gamora's arm, spun around Drax, and disappeared into the forward cabin. Loki followed in behind him, and together, they sealed the door. The screams from the Guardians of the Galaxy were lessened, but not completely blotted out.

Clint exchanged a look with Loki. "That went well."

"Might I suggest we slip away and leave them to their own idiotic uselessness?" Loki suggested. He reached for the sphere, but Clint pulled it away. Loki pouted in disappointment of his withdraw. "Where do you imagine I plan to go with it?"

Clint though, did not concede. "I don't know what stone's in this thing, and the last thing I want is a mishap. If it's the Power Stone, the minute your eyes lock on it, then we might as well say goodbye to the rest of our natural lives."

Loki scoffed. "You do not believe I could gaze upon it without reverting to the primitive hunger that once consumed the usurper Ronin? You think very little of me indeed."

Clint still pulled away. "No, I just have a keen memory of what you managed to do with the Mind Stone and the Tesseract."

"Eons of our past matter not, when compared to my current new leaf."

"It was twelve years ago. For you, it might as well have been yesterday," Clint replied. The firmness in his voice ended the matter. "I need to send the specs on this thing to Tony so we can start figuring an actual path out for ourselves. Do me a favor, go into that little war room next door and drag Rocket in here. He can – " Clint paused. "Never mind, advanced race. I forgot. You look around in this heap, and figure out how I can transmit this rock's signal to the _Gateway_. And turn your back for a second so I can look at what's inside."

Loki folded his arms. They'd had numerous discussions on Clint's continued need to give him orders. So far, they all resulted in the Frost Giant's resistance. This was no different. An ample staring contest later, Loki conceded at last, and turned toward the consoles. The fight next door had escalated a hundred fold. Something, most likely thrown from Groot, pierced accidentally into the forward blast doors, and nearly impaled Barton. He took a few healthy steps back.

Clint kept himself back-to-back with Loki while the little sphere in his hands slowly deconstructed. A deep purplish blue hue, pitted in black spheres, swirled around like a miniature planet in his hand. At least this was a physical stone, unlike the Aether and the Tesseract. Getting a good look at it, Clint resealed the sphere for safekeeping, and turned his attention back to Loki.

"All right, which stone is it that looks purple, blue and necrotic?" he asked.

Loki jumped, pressing his back against the wall of controllers, and forcibly shoved Clint away from him with the toe of his boot. His arms extended, commanding Clint to keep his distance or regret it. "Not that! You keep that cursed thing locked and sealed. And should you attempt to get it near me, I may just fancy slicing your throat for real this time!"

Today was a day of unending surprises. Clint held up the sphere like one might display a basketball. "Oh, this?"

Loki shot back another few inches until, nearly completely braced on a line of controllers with his back against a support strut, he was trapped from going any farther. "I warn you, Barton, do not test me!"

"Tell me what stone it is. Tony's going to need to know anyway."

"Only if you swear that thing does not exist within any radius of my person." Loki demanded.

Clint had to chuckle at his reaction. He sank into Drax's traditional seat, and hiked his feet onto the console. He conceded to Loki's request, and waited for the explanation. It took a little bit of time for the Frost Giant to extract himself from the cubby hole, like a cat climbing down from a refrigerator. When he settled, smoothed his hair and his shirt, he clarified his dramatic reaction.

The Infinity Gem was the Time Stone. Clint had never seen it outside of the Gauntlet itself. In capable hands, it had the ability to grant an ageless existence, to alter the very timeline of the universe, and to transport a man anywhere in the present, past, or future. It was, however, one of the most unstable of all the stones. Loki feared it the most. Whereas he might survive taking hold of the Power Stone that once tore the Kree dictator, Ronin, to pieces, there was nothing Loki could do to control his own aging. One improper word or action toward that stone might propel the Frost Giant thousands of years toward his own death, until there remained nothing but ice and bones. Clint marveled at the little sphere.

Star-Lord had been hiding this all along, but to what end?

"You better get Tony on the line and tell him what we found. I don't want to give this thing up to anyone on that War Council. If it can do what you say, then playing with this too much might destroy that careful timeline we've tried to establish."

Loki gingerly sidestepped him to finish his work. Barton sat, contemplating the weight of the stone in his hands. He thought about time, and how it ticked inevitably against them. Maybe with this stone, there was a way to get it working for them.

* * *

*drop the mic*

Next time: Loki's nightmares, and an attack!

Please review!


	19. Chapter 17

So i realized that I've written up to chapter 25 (out of who knows how many) and I've only posted up to 16. so here's another fast update!

Thank you too!::

amy. .9 SO. Many. Possibilities.

Fury-Natalia Update: commence!

Ms. Hawkeye ohhhhhhh sweet historical society don't fail me now:)

* * *

**I Can Hear the Drums  
**

Chapter 17

Since the days Thanos first attempted to quash the Nine Realms, his reclusive home of Thran had been invaded by Asgard's armies, and veritably destroyed. With the Infinity Gauntlet lost, his Chitauri army dispersed. Left weak and exposed from the battle, he was forced to retreat from his stronghold to the edge of the universe itself, in a place that became known as Wrath Slum.

Wrath Slum was an asteroid belt swirling in steady rhythm around a mega-planet, just the place that might appeal to the dictator's aesthetics. So long as he remained passive to his neighbor Kree and distant Shi'ar, he was allowed to build a steady territory, and form once more the powers which once made him the single most influential creature the universe had seen in a millennium. His Chitauri grew prodigiously. His loyalists likewise expounded. Those who might have once considered him the greatest of evil, now turned to him in their trembling for assistance. Fear abounded. He'd learned many lessons from his first attempt at conquering the Nine Realms. He required more loyalties, an unending affiliation of spies to work as his eyes and ears in the worlds. From his little orbiting belt, he controlled so much more than anyone knew. He understood more of those human corruptions that a superior species might discount.

Leverage; he became a ruler with a lot of leverage.

In the privacy of his thoughts, he might laugh at the Kree's hearty appeal to his help when Midgard began their arms race. Openly, he merely pulled the strings of their own future demise. He had his own interests in this death that came sailing toward them, should it ever come. Thanos did not put his faith in the frightened words of mere mortals. He saw the practicality of what his army faced, and he knew only one thing for certain: Midgard could never be allowed to develop as a universal power. His pull within the Kree Empire made sure that his neighbor race agreed. He'd let them fight those little battles, serve as a distraction, and fracture Midgard's armada. There were more important things for his attention to turn toward.

Alfheimr's involvement had been a shock. Thanos didn't like surprises, especially when so much went into getting him where he was today. He'd spent considerable time and resources extracting Amora, the Enchantress, from her prison in Hel to be his eyes and ears in the Nine Realms. For her to miss this pivotal turning point in Alfheimr's once peaceful history, was enough to warrant her death sentence. He didn't mourn the loss, he mourned the missed opportunity. Had he any notion of what the deceased King Haladarrel had planned, he might have changed his mind as to what side Alfheimr was on. It wouldn't have been easy, but he was a young king, and they tended to be impressionable. Now with Rinon sitting as the Le'lareme, the admiral of the elven armadas, a greater wealth of issues occurred. Rinon would have to be converted, or killed. Those were the only options.

"I see little has changed, not that I am surprised. You always did prefer more color in your attendants than your surroundings."

Thanos' marred chin rose in a tight smile. He turned away from the distant undulating waves of his armored serpents to address his visitor. "You're late."

"I got hung up." The tall, slim Frost Giant crossed the space between them, and glanced down into the cosmic abyss where Thanos' attention once rested. There were millions of those horrid creatures down there, cruising through the light reflected from the mega-planet's surface. They swam forward like a school of fish, following the asteroids.

"We had an agreement about your requirements in my service," Thanos reminded him.

Loki's eyes flicked over. He thought better of his proximity to the edge, and retreated. "I had not anticipated the close quarters of my previous ship. A mere oversight." Loki felt the rush of air as Thanos reached for him. He meant to step away, but the massive hand clamped down on his throat. He tried to phase away, attempted to escape back into the fissures of his mind and appear in the little shared room he had on the _Milano_, but somehow he couldn't. He was trapped in Thanos' hand.

The ruler clamped down, tightening until Loki could feel his fingerprints bruising into his spine. Any tighter, and the Frost Giant feared he may completely lose his head from his body. His skin flashed blue, he gasped, tried to pry free, but Thanos held him still.

"I warned you what would come if you crossed me," Thanos growled. He retracted his arm, pulling Loki in close enough to feel the heat of his breath. "I will not kill you. I wouldn't give you the pleasure of that." His arm extended, swiftly, whipping the Frost Giant backward against an outcrop of rock. Loki might have shouted if he could find the air for it.

"Your old friend, the Asgardian's Enchantress, has been in my employ for long enough to make you understand the depths of my sincerity, putrid flesh. You will find me that power I seek, or you will suffer every atrocity I can attribute to you. I have all the time and patience to enact everything I can that will make your every dream a tangible nightmare." Thanos released at last, and Loki collapsed in a heap.

He struggled to fill his lungs as quickly as possible. "Wai – " he coughed, wheezed, sucked in a breath and tried again with his hand on his collar to pull his shirt from his neck. "Wait! A st—stone. He has a stone! Barton, Quill, they've discovered one."

"A single stone?" Thanos asked, skeptically.

"I do not know how he has come across it, but I have seen evidence of it, yes. I can bring it to you. Dispel this debt. Call it a gesture of good faith to allow me to leave and retrieve it." Loki was desperate, grasping at straws.

Thanos took his time considering it. "What has the man planned to do with it?"

"Barton does not trust me. He will not say," Loki lied.

"Do they mean to use it to find the rest of the stones? What of the Gauntlet? Is that not yet found?"

Loki stayed on his knees and held up his hands. "I know nothing more. That Guardian had it on his ship. We happened across it by chance alone. That is all I know."

Thanos came for him again. Prepared for this second attack, Loki withdrew a shadow dagger and meant to strike out with it. But Thanos vanished before his very eyes. Loki looked around, expecting a scuff of a foot along the floor, the evidence of a portal, something that might shed light as to where Thanos had gone. There was nothing. It was as if he had simply disappeared into thin air.

From behind, Loki felt arms cross his chest, pinning his hands down. Thanos reappeared like a mirage findings its form. Suddenly, it all came together in the blink of an eye. Elven technology. The dark elves' cloaking device, adapted to a living being. He'd somehow achieved it!

Thanos squeezed with his inhuman strength, tighter and tighter. The sharp tips of his metal gloves dug into Loki's chest and began to dissect their way outward. Loki screamed as he felt his chest being mercilessly ripped apart.

"You are mine, Frost Giant. Find me a way to destroy these Midgardians, and I might let your suffering end."

:(:):(:):

Clint groaned against his arm. He shifted slightly in his cot while, beneath him, Loki rolled around on his own clump of bedding. He told himself he should force Rocket to fashion him a set of ear muffs. Dwelling for the past near three months as Loki's companion, almost did him in. His newfound ability to hear, brought with it a near hypersensitivity to the world at large, was more of a burden than it was fortuitous. Natasha liked to say he could hear a fly buzz three rooms away. It may be helpful on a mission. Attempting to sleep just above someone who spent his night tossing and turning, was not what he needed.

"Loki, shut up!" Clint growled, dropping his hand down to grope for the Frost Giant's face. They both opted to not share a room with the peculiar Drax. Peter's filthy room was also off limits. Gamora, and the Rocket/Groot option, was all that remained. And, valuing their lives, they declined both.

A fifth stateroom existed on the top deck, though it was overrun with a thousand of Rocket's miniature explosives, Quill's useless hoarding, and fifteen pounds of leaves. It took a full day to clear the junk into the vacuum of space for the thrusters to burn. At least they had a room to sleep in afterward. Or they might have, if Clint could get any sleep.

"Loki! Wake up!" Barton continued to grumble. He found the edge of Loki's blanket and stole it off him. When that created no reaction, Clint forced himself up, and half-crawled off of his own bed. He found a baseball on the shelf beside him, and decided to drop it on the side of Loki's face. He had one rule: Barton gets to sleep, or no one does.

Loki shook awake. He threw himself up from the cluster of blankets, and held his heart in one hand should it decide to fall from his chest. He inspected everything like terrified prey searching for the eyes of a lion, but finding none.

"If you can't shut up, you can't sleep in here." Clint grumbled, retracting back onto his mattress. One eye remained open, watching the peculiarity of Loki's reaction. Something didn't feel right. He had a sense for things like that.

Loki climbed off of his cot, and stood shaking in the room's center. He felt along his chest, counting the ribs as if he might find one out of place. The wide-eyed look never left him.

"What?" Clint asked.

Loki didn't answer. When he phased into another location, especially one at such a great distance and under Thanos' charge, he was never physically affected. Now that the Enchantress was dead, and Thanos himself inherited her abilities to steal into a creature's nightmares, Loki was the subject of his control. Deftly, he rubbed the purple brand hiding in the palm of his hand. He wore a leather strap there to hide it. Barton was curious about it, but said nothing. The archer had been marked once by the devil woman himself. He'd gone so far as to murder Thor and Odin (or the beings who served as look-alikes) in service of her control. It brought chills to Loki when he considered what he must do in order to dispel his debt with Thanos.

Clint was up, whether he wanted to be or not. "Loki, what is it?"

Convinced at last that he had not been fileted in half, Loki shook his head. "Nothing of consequence," he said, seeping his voice in honey-laden assurance.

"Bull!" Clint replied. "You're keeping something from me. I knew it before we got on that ship, and it makes me even more concerned after we ran into that Southling who wanted to tear your eyes out."

Sleep sailed away on a long distance horizon as Barton dragged himself upright. He scrubbed his fists over his eyes, while attempting to bring the world into some kind of general focus. "I might trust you more than Thor does, and God knows why I trust you at all, given our history, but if you don't tell me something, then I'm turning this ship around and leaving you on Cross Lake for Hank to pick up."

The last thing on Loki's mind was dealing with Clint's distrust. He had a considerable lot of other horrors to consider. Thanos salivated for a chance to retrieve the Infinity Gauntlet again topped that list. Agents of that dictator had seen the heralds of Galactus, as few others had. Typically, those in servitude to the World Eater would prepare the way for his arrival. This time, they had a decidedly different calling. They wanted the Gauntlet. Loki had to steal it for Thanos before the heralds, Barton, Quill, or anyone else found it or face his own suffering for as long as Thanos lived. How could he possibly warn Clint of this without revealing the true blight of his predicament?

Clint groaned. "You better start talking, or else I'm going to make something up, and it is going to be worse than anything you actually did. And I'm serious about that. In three seconds, I'm going to say that you spend your nights dreaming about mermaids and fish filets."

In order to protect himself from giving away any potential secrets, Loki decided his best option was to completely avoid the situation. He attempted to flee from the room for the waiting conference area beyond them. Clint removed one of the collapsing arrows he always kept close, extended it, and threw the object in his path. Loki glared at the taunt.

"This is a useless waste of our energy. If you believe that I may decide to spend our time here expressing my feelings to the likes of you, then prepare yourself for a disappointment."

"I don't care about your feelings," Clint told him, standing. Loki was a head taller than him at the least. "I care about trust. Why did that Southling know you?"

"A spiritless child from a land she'd been banished from. How should I know the intimacies of her heart?"

"Not good enough. She knew you. She'd seen you before. She trusted you too, once. Just say it. _You_ were the one that ordered me there."

Loki propelled backward. He occasionally failed to consider the sins of his past, when the overbearing weight of his future hung on him like a hangman's noose. He was making mistakes that might have never entered him in the past. The long stretches of sleepless weeks were taking their toll on him. When sleep at last did come, it was filled with Thanos' unending torture and humiliation.

No genius needed to deduce what Clint knew to be true in his heart. Loki had control of Asgard's throne before the archer was sent to his death those years before in Alfheimr. Loki hadn't ordered it. He executed it himself. One key to the fluidity of his deception was to intersperse lies with shadows of authenticity. That occasion had come again.

"I admit it," Loki said, appearing confused, embarrassed. He needed to sell this. "I feared Alfheimr, and for good reason, it seems. Had Asgard not taken control as the defending force of the Nine Realms, Alfheimr was prepared to do so instead. If they knew of my control of Odin's throne, Rinon and his men would have destroyed me with a mercy not shown by Odin." A darkness crept into Loki's face as he said it. "You have not seen the side of that elven king that I surely have."

Not willing to pass judgement at only Loki's assurance, Clint remained skeptical. He knew Rinon. Maybe not as much as others, but after their conversation, he thought he had some reference frame for the elf. He might not suspect a dark history, but the potential was there. He'd gone to war at Odin's side, and secluded himself to the mountains in fear and loathing. Could there have been another reason?

"I feared him as many realms now rightly do. I could harbor no evidence against his trust, yet I required a reason to overthrow him. So, yes, I may have taken you from Midgard to accomplish that feat."

Clint grabbed the Frost Giant by the cloth of his shirt, and threw him back against a shelf. He'd known it in his heart. It wasn't a surprise. But the reality slammed into him like a dagger blade.

"Do you have any idea what I went through?!" Barton screamed. "Elaren venom! Do you know what that does to a man?! It set my every cell on fire, as if I'd been cursed to burn alive! I couldn't use my bow for twelve years! They think it even caused my stomach cancer!"

Loki held his hands up as if to stop him. His fingers pulled at the shoulder of his shirt, displaying the thin white line in his own flesh. "You gave me the same shot once. Thrust an arrow through my shoulder. I may be a Frost Giant, but it doesn't mean I feel no pain. Had I had any inclination that the Southling's leader, Ge'elaphi, held the same venomous heart as Rinon himself, I might have prevented it. Until it occurred, I had no notion. But you have survived it."

Clint shrugged him off, and took a few cautionary steps away before he decided to mar Loki's face with a right hook. "No thanks to you."

"I might have prevented Thor from riding to your rescue with those dubious friends he considers warriors, but I did not. Do you think Thor was able to withdraw from my sight long enough to activate the Bifrost? Do you think it was by chance they broke Heimdall from his prison? Do you think I had no hand in that? I saw the reality of what they had plotted, and my heart changed. I opened the Bifrost for Thor to come to Asgard in the first place, where he was able to collect the others. I allowed him to go to Alfheimr, so he might recover you before the worst happened. I never considered he may make a poisonous allegiance whilst being there. Rinon forced his hand in that."

"Get back to sleep." Clint said. He was too angry to argue. If there was one person in this galaxy who had the ability to completely twist reality into a dark, ugly thing, it was Loki. Clint wasn't sure why he continued to listen, other than for the opportunity to find the grains of truth in him. They were always there, sprinkled like land mines in a war torn field. Did Loki really fear Rinon? Or was he simply deflecting a worse sort of defiance?

He headed into the adjoining room, and slammed the door shut behind himself. He had a thousand things on his mind, the least of which was Loki's attempt to murder him years ago. The revelation, though, threw that old pain back to the forefront of his mind.

When the Sarhorn healed him, he'd taken away that pain which kept Clint from wielding his Odin-given bow. For the first time in more than a decade, he had the ability to use that tool without feeling like his entire arm would be pulled from its socket. He may have suspected the Frost Giant, but that establishment never came for certain. He wasn't surprised, Clint continued to tell himself. This was what Loki did. This was his nature. It was the reason Thor ended that glimmer of hope he once had that Loki could be saved.

The fact that Loki might toss the blame onto Rinon, shook him. Barton trusted the Elf almost entirely. Only the faintest glimmer of doubt entered his mind when Haladarrel spoke to him of Rinon's self-imposed distance to the rest of the world. Speaking with the former king himself dispelled such doubts instantaneously. He could understand Rinon, where others may not. He knew Tony felt the same, and between the two of them, Clint thought that was enough of a character witness. Loki had gotten under his skin. He'd warned himself against this exact circumstance.

He'd sent their specifications for the Time Stone to Tony already, hoping he might devise a new way to track the Gauntlet from it. For now, they worked with the poor man's method. All Infinity Stones had an innate desire to find one another. Using the Stone as a beacon, Clint could occasionally open its protective seal, and decide whether they were getting closer or farther from the source. In a quest to overcome his earlier trip to the dog house, Peter decided to take on babysitting the Infinity Stone himself. For as long as he'd had it, letting it go would only come with a fight. For now, Clint let the man have it. In a space-sized game of hotter/colder, they combed the Oore galaxy to find any indication that the Gauntlet was nearby.

The green hued particles of the passing Oore system danced across the window panes on his right, while the deep purple hues of the Dark encompassed his left. They were cruising along the galactic line, on their way to Bruce's far southern end of the map. What they hoped to find, was yet unknown. It was easy to feel lost out there, surrounded by friends and worse, by secrets. He hated when things were kept from him, though he was often guilty of doing it himself. Maybe a call to Stark was in order. At least nothing big existed between them that the other wasn't aware of.

While wondering over the motivations of those around him served as one sort of distraction, there was an even bigger one yet on the horizon. A fourteen foot tall man, dressed in a cape with silver armor and a massive spear, suddenly appeared in the empty airspace directly in front of the nose of his ship.

Shocked, Barton threw himself over the controls, and yanked the thrusters back into an all stop. His body flew forward toward the front view screen as the stranger lifted his weapon, and prepared to send it flying through the length of the Milano.

* * *

CLIFFHANGER!

ok, now that a lot of prep work is done, we are now launching into "action central". (you know, as if blowing up the armada, losing banner, Tony having cancer, throwing Pete out a window, and the death of Haladarrel wasn't actual action)

Next time: Jurassic Park, war hounds, and Rinon's allegiance.

Please review! come one, guys, I want them. please give me to me:)


	20. Chapter 18

Thank you SO much for the few steady reviewers here. It means the world to me! I've put so much into this that it's nice to see people enjoying it:)

discordchick Like i said, things are about to get hairy!

Ms. HawkeyeSo many things are yet to come! who's to say what will happen?

Fury-Natalia Here you go!

* * *

**I Can Hear the Drums  
**

Chapter 18

Clint threw himself to the floor as the spear pierced through the front glass and lodged in the next room. The outer forcefield for the ship kicked in the minute it felt the breach, and an invisible wrap sealed across the perimeter. At least Clint wouldn't be repeating his near spacewalk he enjoyed on the _Gateway_ only a few months prior. He clambered to his feet, and kicked the ship into a sideways roll before popping on the overhead communications.

"Everyone get up, we're under attack!" He roared.

In the middle of its roll, the _Milano_ took a hard thrust that dropped her through the red haze of space dust. She'd pulled out of hyperspace, and now they were faced with the looming mass of a coming moon. Clint grabbed at the controls to try and stop their breaching the atmosphere, but a second massive hit sent her reeling aft-first into a spin. As they rotated, the strange newcomer came in and out of view. Each passing moment, he edged closer.

He held a hammer like Thor's, only twelve times the size of it. In a flash of reflected light, he held it to his side. In another moment, he had it raised. In the final spin, Clint watched the hammer drop through the expanse of space and fall against the right wing of the _Milano_. The ship began to topple wing-over-wing. He could hear the sheer of metal ripping away from metal. An atmosphere alarm erupted from the overhead console, but Clint couldn't reach it.

"Barton!" Loki shouted. He'd sailed through the door of their shared stateroom and, seeing the spear bisecting the war room in half, he grabbed it as a handhold.

"I think it's the herald!" Clint replied, bracing himself between one of the jump seats and the floor. "I can't get to the stabilizers!"

Using the spear, Loki followed along its length to grab the doors and hold himself up. He had to shove one foot against the door jamb on one side, and his back against the other, to keep from being tossed right over.

Rocket appeared from the staircase below. "Who's screwing with my ship?!" he demanded.

"Ask the big and ugly outside," Clint replied. From his position he couldn't see the front screen, but Loki could. He watched as the Frost Giant's face turned white, and he began to scramble away from the corridor. He hit the floor opposite of Barton, grabbed a seat belt strap in one hand and braced for impact. Taking his recommendation, Clint hit the deck. Rocket just managed to cross the threshold when he saw it too.

The ship's nose crushed under the impact of a hammer swing. Clint's body slammed back into the jump seat. Rocket, thrown off balance, went sailing for the forward view screen until Clint managed to lean over and threw out a hand to grab his leg.

"Don't lemme go! Don't lemme go!" the raccoon exclaimed.

"Try and reach the stabilizers!"

"What stabilizers?"

The ship tumbled toward the abandoned moon they had stopped beside. The massive creature followed them the entire way down. The left wing tore, metal screamed, and the minute it finally disconnected, the entire cabin lunged left as the ship spun. Clint, Loki, and Rocket ended up on the ceiling, all scrambling to buckle themselves down to whatever they could and, at the same time, try and keep the ship from landing top-first into the ever closing-in ground.

"Hit the side thrusters!" Clint ordered, trying to reach the front panels. By clam shelling them open, he might get a chance to slow them down, even if that left their aft-end open to another attack.

"We don't have those, either!" Rocket said.

"What in Odin's name do you have?!" Loki roared.

Rocket found a switch, threw back its plastic sheet protector, and jammed his heel down to flatten the button out. The ship screeched and bucked forward. The three sailed downward all at once as the nose dropped. In a pig-pile, they braced against the splintering forward glass.

"What did you just do?" Clint whispered. He froze in place, terrified that moving too much in one way or another might cause the glass to drop right out from under them. He gauged they had another ten kilometers before they hit the ground. Much too far for him to survive, despite his ability to seemingly live through the impossible.

"Parachute." Rocket whispered.

"Is that seriously the best this heap can accomplish?" Loki growled.

"Hey, we're slowing down." Rocket replied with a shrug.

Something above them groaned. All eyes turned upward as Groot's head appeared in the corridor. He seemed concerned as he asked, "I _aaam_ Groot?"

"Never happier to see a talking twig! Hey, stretch down here and get us off this thing! Don't just stand there spreading roots!" Rocket told him.

Groot smiled, then his attention changed to the long spear which stuck out of the far wall. His bark-surrounded eyes creaked as he squinted at the peculiar new object. One finger reached out and trepidatiously touched it. The metal pole dislodged, and dropped half an inch down toward the three beings below clustered on the glass.

"Do not touch that! Do you wish to murder us?!" Loki screamed.

"Don't shout, you'll scare him! Groot, you leave that thing alone before I smack you with it!" Rocket admonished the Frost Giant, but didn't lower his own voice.

"Oh my God, I'm in Jurassic Park," Clint whispered to himself, shaking his head. This wasn't going to end well. He had to get off the glass. It continued to splinter. The center hole expanded out as the invisible field peeled away under the massive damage to the ship's hull. Beside him, Rocket felt the Avenger start to move away and, not to be left behind, climbed over Barton for the safety of the shelves around them. Loki, too, began to move.

The glass splintered in half. Smaller spider fractures connected the large ones, and the first few pieces began to fall. Not to be deterred, Groot grabbed the end of spear, yanked it completely free, and displayed his prize to the horrified cries of the men below him.

"NO!" Rocket yelled. "Bad! Bad Groot! Leave it!"

The tree-man's face curled downward as he glanced at the weapon in his hands. Taking their direction, he lifted it up and tossed it across the room and far from dropping to the glass below. Now he smiled, accepting the praise for his good work.

Though not out of the woods by any means, Clint did relax briefly. Until, that is, the herald appeared again. His hammer dropped against the stern. The battered Milano dropped down another forty feet. Groot lost his grip on the corridor and, in a heap, he tumbled downward. All at once, the view glass shattered.

:(:):(:):

Standing in the bridge of an Alfheimr ship, was much different than the constructions of Asgard, Xandar, and Midgard combined. Whereas, on the _Gateway_, the hints of the Light Elves work existed in the subtle sweeps and curves of every glistening control panel, an Alfheimr ship held no reservations whatsoever. It was like stepping into a glinting throne room in Lakeheed.

Tony's scientific mind exploded.

Natasha stood to the side, watching him spin around the room as if he might go into a seizure. Not many other beings walked onto those Alfheimr vessels. Rinon preferred to keep them in his race's hands, which prevented the deepest secrets of their propulsion from being revealed. Tony considered sneaking onto one, but decided against it after Rinon invited him onto his personal flagship, the _Vioya Rose_. From the outside looking in, the ship was one of the most technologically advanced creations the galaxy ever witnessed. Its stardust and golden hull, covered in the images of the four running wolves and the opening jaw of Rinon's Faralir, struck fear in anyone hoping to cross it. From the inside, however, Tony met the truth of it all.

"How many elves does it take to move this thing?" He asked.

"Four." Rinon told him. He was sitting in the captain's chair, which was much more of a throne than an actual command post. He reclined against its vertical cushion, and watched with a swell of pride while the two Avengers took in the peculiar sights around them.

"How _do_ you move this thing?" Tony asked, turning toward the throne.

"The three I have employed are Yuh, Awirrae, and Vuehalie. They are metallurgists from the Blanklands. They ask, the ship moves. They think, it is directed. We have others to man the guns if necessary, but thus far it has not been."

"How many are on the ship right now?"

"A crew of fifty elves. An unnecessary amount, but this _is_ our largest ship." Rinon replied.

Natasha perched on the edge of a chair to Rinon's right. Some part of her analyzed the Elf sitting proudly between his two loyal followers. The Sarhorn's words echoed in the privacy of her mind, of the way she might save Clint but only if she could assure his assistance.

The entire bridge was virtually empty. No glittering panels. No control systems. No technicians managing screens of endless information. Nothing.

Rinon had achieved something no being in the galaxy had yet managed to complete. He created a fleet that relatively manned itself. For every one piloted fighter, there were two un-piloted ones. A single Elf had the ability to control all three with such absolute precision that, having two extra pilots, was unnecessary.

The same reality occurred on the _Voiya Rose_. Rinon himself, as a former king of Alfheimr, could control everything his hand touched, but he deferred his will power to commanding instead, and left the minor ship's piloting to the others from the Blanklands. He knew he didn't have the man power to overwhelm native forces, but what the Elves did have, was a boundless ingenuity. They overcame their weaknesses with the strength of their minds.

"Only an Elf can command a ship. We are not a plentiful race. In fact, we have one of the fewest populations in all the Nine Realms. But these metals are Elven metals, forged by Elven hands. The wood is Elven wood, grown in our own forests. Where the Kree might have hoped to overcome our force, it will not, especially not in Svartalfheim. There is nothing left of that place for them to take advantage of. The rest of my fleet is there already."

A greater shock couldn't have slapped Tony in the face. He stood, stunned, trying to absorb exactly what Rinon meant, but, in the end, failed. "The rest of your fleet? You have half a million ships swarming over Vanaheim now. You sent another thousand on the carriers that Linnor and Logan are on. What do you mean by the rest of your fleet?"

Rinon's face remained impassive. He would make one hell of a poker player if he ever decided to become one. "There are another one million ships currently at the base I formed on Svartalfheim after the destruction of Malekith and the Dark Elves."

If Tony thought nothing more could affect him, he was wrong. That realm was an abandoned waste land. A place so far removed from normal society, that the Nine Realms treated it like a scourge, a black death. None traveled there. Ghost stories spread of the dangers lurking beneath its surface. There was nothing left of consequence to be gleaned in its hills of reddened dirt and shattered cityscapes. When Malekith reawakened from his dark sleep to wreak havoc on Asgard, even he wasn't on the planet at the time. To all the known worlds, it was utterly uninhabitable.

Rinon made a slight motion with his hand for his most loyal companion, Reylano, to step forward. With a gentle nod and sign, he instructed the Elf to explain for him, which he did.

"Despite being the land of exiles, it is still in Elven hands. It was our king - " Reylano paused to correct himself. Rinon may have been king when the orders came down, but he was that Elf no longer. He often struggled under the new title. "Le'lareme decided, in the last year of his reign, to convert its soil to something of use again. A great struggle presented in that time. What to do with the Eyani', the Southlings, that their leader Ge'elaphi raised. Our land struggled under the weight of what must be done. None wished to forever sever them from our lands, as it was the whole right of us to do. Le'lareme did not believe that all of them were beyond saving, not in the same manner of the Dark Elves. Hyalthaley Bygrove made the current agreement between our people and theirs, and took over their governship personally."

Natasha cut a glance toward Tony to see whether her own emotions about the revelation matched his. She'd never been involved in the happenings of Alfheimr beyond what Barton, Tony, and Rogers told her. She'd seen the aftermath of the fight between the two polar halves of Alfheimr in their bruised and scarred bodies.

Many lives, good lives, were destroyed in that fight. For Rinon to choose mercy instead of completely destroying the insurrection, surprised her from a human stand point. Practicality, though, also won out. The Avengers men spoke very little of what they actually saw in that place. She knew the name Bygrove, that it was Haladarrel Bywater's kin's surname, and that the Elf preferred to be known as Doodle. He was somewhat of a hermit, since his reign as regent in the times of the Dark Elves seven thousand years in the past. He'd been the one to order their exile, and lived under that heavy regret since. To understand better what the depth of Rinon's decision meant, she'd have to see what Tony thought.

"That was very cunning of you." Stark said. He'd dropped his own mask of calm, like retreating into his armor, though, currently, he wore none. Suddenly, he fell into a role Natasha knew very well.

He straightened and moved around the room again, as If to admire it. What he really did, was size up that Elf he suddenly felt like he knew nothing at all about. She'd seen him do this a hundred times before. The first of which was on the Heli-carrier when he meant to discover the depths of Director Fury's need to form the Avengers. Only this time, there was no technician playing Galaga. She wouldn't be at all surprised to find him placing a voice transmitter in the room.

Tony made a sweeping hand motion into the air, taking in the expanse of the space. "So what did you offer them? A chance at redemption if they built you this? A chance to live out some life on a dead planet with the promise that one day, maybe, they could return to the home they knew. You speak an awful lot about redemption. Oh wait, you don't really speak at all."

Reylano took a sudden step back at the surprise hostility, and unconsciously swept his hand toward his sword's hilt. Rinon, though, patiently placed his over the pommel.

"What? Don't like what I'm saying? Someone's got to question you, and it looks like there aren't many in the position to do that anymore. This is all buttoned up pretty tight, and I'm not someone who likes secrets. Anyone can tell you that. And it seems to me like you have more secrets than Hitler's diary."

He stopped a few feet in front of Rinon's throne, and gazed down at the Elf. He wanted desperately to see something flicker beneath that alabaster stone. For good or for evil, he had to know whom he could still trust in this universe, and whom he needed to take care of before that looming ball dropped.

"You've got your ships and your men. A base no one knows about. You started this fleet back when it was all happiness and peace. You never left that little green planet when Galactus came first, or Thanos threatened our doorstep. So why now? What changed? Why are you revealing your hand?"

Reylano cut a glance toward his leader. Rinon smoothly stood, removed his hand from Reylano's sword, and faced Stark. He wasn't angry, impressed, or even insulted. He was sad.

"Iron Man, the reason you are here now is because you must see, in order to trust. The Sarhorn knew that of you too. I am not ignorant of those things the World Council thinks of me. I am nearing fourteen hundred years old. If their comments phased me in the least, I should never be allowed charge of the fleet I have."

"Why are you here?" Tony asked once more.

"Because if I did not come, you would not be ready, and all we know would _burn to ash_." Rinon's face flushed pink when the words exited his mouth. For the first time, real, raw emotion leaked into his voice. Those desperate lavender eyes cut through Tony's distrust with their sincerity. "And everything I love would burn with it. Can you not hear the drums beating in your ears? The hounds of war are snarling at the end of their master's leash. You may think, believe even, that we have six Midgardian years yet to fight that monster that comes. I am here to tell you that you are very, very wrong."

Reylano reached forward and grabbed his leader's shoulder. He squeezed, telling Rinon he'd gone too far and said too much. Rinon knew it too, the moment the emotion entered his voice and he spewed the very fears that forced him to send his ships after Bruce Banner to begin with. He appreciated the man as a scientist, to be sure, though not enough to risk his greatest ships to recover him when only a few direct from Svartalfheim might do.

"What do you mean we don't have six years?" Tony demanded. He stiffened like an Elf might. Natasha slowly got to her feet beside him, sensing the seriousness of what was coming. Their entire lives were defined by that intricate timeline, the walls of clocks, waiting on the _Gateway_. Everyone in five galaxies was looking to Midgard now, and waiting for the ball to drop. Not having that time, losing even a second, hour, day of it, might destroy many of their plans before they began.

"We must be prepared for everything that comes to us." Reylano said, drawing his leader back. Rinon conceded to his advice, and turned away from the two Avengers. He didn't stop by the throne again. Instead, he headed for the door, waited for it to open, and slipped out before he could be persuaded to reveal more.

"So, is that all the answer we're getting?" Tony asked Reylano, "He drops something like that, and leaves? You know, I'm not just losing Clint in six years to a horrible death I'm working really hard to not let happen, Galactus is coming too."

Tony stepped toward the six and a half foot Elf. It was like staring up at Thor. He'd known Reylano for as long as he'd known Rinon. The two were an inseparable pair. "Look, you know what we're trying to do here, and you aren't deaf. You know that just showing up out of the blue with an armada this big, is going to turn heads. You've weaponized Svartalfheim, fine. It's strategic, and no one will dispute that it's Elven lands. But do you realize what everyone's going to say when the word gets out?"

"Le'lareme knows what it is he hopes to do." Reylano said, willing the measure of conviction into his voice. Tony could sense the hint of doubt, though, sliding beneath the surface. "We must trust him. It is all anyone can do."

* * *

What a bone-chilling discovery! What does he know? Can Rinon be trusted? Will Clint and the others go SPLAT before they can be saved? Stay tuned!

Next time: I AM GROOT, Ronin returns, and bleeding spleens

oh please, oh please, can some reviews I get...?


	21. Chapter 19

Thank you SO much for the few steady reviewers here. It means the world to me! I've put so much into this that it's nice to see people enjoying it:)

Guest: Aw! Thank you so much for reviewing!

discordchick: They are a trip for sure. More on what the Sarhorn meant will come later:)

Ms. Hawkeye: Clint Whump? Me? No, that never happens in ANY of my stories.

Alethea: Steve's going to hate a lot about what's coming soon.

amy. .9: Oh the things to come. I admit that I will not not attempt to murder all of planet earth, and the Sarhorn is definitely not avoiding the opportunity to possibly give advice about what may or many not occur in the possible future that will most likely, but may not be, occuring.

lynneanne: um, i think i cried a little. ok, not a little. I cried a lot. this was incredibly sweet of you to say and as an author I am profoundly blessed to have such a devout reader such as yourself.

Fury-Natalia: Dear Lord Jesus, things are going to get HAIRY!

* * *

**I Can Hear the Drums  
**

Chapter 19

Less than three miles until the ground ended their fall. Less than two minutes until everything he knew to be his body would hit that ground in an unrecognizable splat. Clint had only a single recourse. He had to trust that something, somewhere, was going to stick out a hand in that emptiness beneath and save him. After all, he couldn't necessarily die, could he? The Sarhorn saw him jump. Rinon saw him jump. Here, there was no impossible shot to make. No saving a billion lives. No choice of Steve over him. There were no _Twenty Predictions Of The Sarhorns_ coming to fruition. So technically, Clint couldn't die just now, even when all hope seemed at its utter bleakest.

That is what he held onto as he tumbled through the open air. It was what forced Loki to dive down after him. The Frost Giant clung to his chest, and they fell together. Next came Rocket. He pulled his arms and legs close to his body, became more aerodynamic and shot himself directly into the dual spinning mass below him. Now, they were a trio of attached beings again, still falling inevitably faster through the free air.

Above their heads, the _Milano_ still dropped, though at a slower rate. The parachute Rocket deployed, had lost a few of its strong lines, but still the ship held together under the heavy damage she sustained. Groot had somehow managed to punch out the safety glass with his mass, but failed to fall through it himself. One hand continued to hold onto the brim of the forward view screen while he watched the others falling between his dangling feet.

"I AM GROOT!" he called to them.

"Is that all that thing can manage!" Loki screamed.

"Stop insulting my stupid friend!" Rocket fired back.

Clint might have replied if the both of them weren't so tightly wrapped around his chest that he couldn't breathe. The three continued to fall. The ground sailing up toward them like a death waiting to come. Clint didn't want to watch it. He had to let himself go. To relax. To trust he couldn't die yet. He had no idea how they were getting out of the situation, but he knew full well Loki and Rocket both were expecting some miracle. Barton's mind went back to something he'd heard once, or maybe read. Most of the people he knew who fell from extreme heights, didn't die from the fall. It was the heart-attack on the way down from the shock of having fallen at all. He could understand that sentiment completely the way his heart currently tried to thud right out of his chest. Or maybe it was just Loki's heart jackhammering against his own.

"Barton!" the Frost Giant said into his ear. The ground was still coming. They were still falling. Nothing was changing. Clint wanted to tell him it would be all right. But how could he?

"I AM GROOT!"

Clint opened his eyes for a split second. Groot seemed so very insistent about things. He finally realized why. Somehow, the tree-man had matched their terminal velocity. Somehow he grew, massively long, in a few short seconds. Only a few inches above their faces, one of his extended legs dangled, waiting for them to just reach out and take it. From hundreds of stories up, Groot's blurry face smiled. He shook his foot once in insistence.

"Grab Groot!" Clint cried. His hands were pinned to his sides from the other two clinging to him for life. Rocket was the first one to let go. He stepped up onto Clint's shoulder, grabbed onto Groot's leg, and frantically started climbing back up toward the _Milano_. Loki went next, and dragged Clint up with him.

Rocket looked down at the two. "Hold on tight!"

Clint squeezed his hands into the intricate root system, and pressed his body in as tightly as he could. Loki ducked in beside him. He grew out crystals of ice like a layer of cement, and absorbed his way into the roots for an added layer of security. The minute they anchored down, Groot began to retract himself. Like being fired from another slingshot, the trio shot up into the sky on a rollercoaster leading straight up. Clint's body rocketed down against the strain, and nearly forced him to let go all together. He dug into Groot's bark with his fingernails. He'd have a considerable amount of splinters to deal with if they ever survived the landing.

"I aaa-m Gro-oot," Groot replied. His voice sounded much closer than it had before. Clint lifted his head up to see that their hundred-story journey was over in a matter of seconds. They were now back, dangling just beneath the ship, which was still poised for a crash landing.

"Good job, Groot," Clint replied. "Next time, how about just not falling on our heads?"

The wide smile returned, and Groot shook his head up and down like a dog might. Rocket slapped the smile off his face while he crawled by. He dragged himself back up into the safety of the ship, and directed Groot to start the same, even with the two others still dangling from his feet.

"Clint?!"

Barton moved his attention farther up into the ship. Apparently, Peter Quill had survived being tossed around like a rock in a tin can. He leaned over the corridor Groot had, at one time, hovered beside.

"Oh, look who decided to join the party. Get enough beauty sleep?" Clint asked conversationally. "You know, I didn't think you had enough free air. Hope you don't mind that I decided to CRACK A WINDOW!"

"What the Hell, man? Seriously, am I not allowed to sleep on my ship, like, ever?"

"If this happens every time you do, I would say the answer to that question is no," Clint replied.

The air filled with a hum of electric energy. Clint's heart sank to his boots as he twisted around to find the source. Their hammer-wielding foe had returned. He hovered in the air, timing his controlled descent with that of the crashing _Milano_. A black cape covered most of his face, and whipped around his body like a tornado. The silver armor glinted in the red light of the closest sun. His hammer, on a pole nearly as long as his spear, waited to be of use again.

If he wanted to kill the heroes outright, a single swing was all it might take. He had dead eyes, large black voids filled with small white pupils and little else. His face was tinged in faint, lethargic looking blue. When his attention rested on Barton, the archer felt sucked into that hellish expression.

His mouth never opened, but Clint heard his voice clearly in the recesses of his skull. Images followed. They flooded his mind with war, death, fires, and storms. It was like a horror reel playing in the privacy of his thoughts. He saw a darkness, a swirling, massive pit of black with a center star attempting to shine through the overwhelming form around it. Shapes and shadows highlighted in that dim, flickering light moved through the pitch and rotated around that center hole like water following a drain. He felt that dark reaching out to him. He felt it grab him by the wrists and try to pull him under. His heart rate sped up. He began to pant as he struggled against it.

"_Clint of Barton. Archer of Midgard. Elect of Odin. The one who wields Sleiphner's Bow and the Hammer Mjolnir. My master requests your extinction," t_hat haunting voice told him. Clint braced against it, panting into Groot's bark. The voice echoed through every corner of that dark nebulous Clint hovered over. He wanted to fight against its gravity, but it continued to suck him in. A chant began whispering into his ear. Thumping harder and harder.

_Galactus is coming_

_Galactus is coming._

_Galactus is coming._

_He is coming for you!_

"NO!" Clint screamed. He pulled himself free of the blackness. Swept the tendrils from his wrist, and tried to fall backward to get away from it all.

"Barton!" Loki cried. He grabbed Clint's arm as the hero disentangled himself from Groot's safety and launched outward as if to skydive right to his death. Loki held fast to his wrist, shaking it to bring him back to his senses. The Frost Giant glared at the herald. "What have you done to him?!"

The herald's head lifted, bringing the hammer up until its handle was over his head, ready to strike directly down and crush them both. This time, as he spoke, everyone could hear.

"**He stands accused**."

"Ronin!" Rocket exclaimed. From above them, the pointed ears and sideways tufts of Rocket Raccoon thrust down through the shattered bow window. If he'd been human, he might have looked ghostly from the color draining his face. He stood witness to what he might have never believed to see. Ronin the Accuser, the Kree soldier and cult leader of the uprising that nearly ripped all of Xandar in half twelve years before. He'd been killed by the Guardians. They were sure of it. It happened right in front of them with the aid of the Power Stone. It wasn't possible that he had come back.

With Clint in one hand, Loki wove his feet around Groot's massive leg, and tore his other frozen hand free. He directed the palm in Ronin's direction, and fired whatever power he could muster into the creature. The Kree propelled backward as the ice swamped through him. He lost concentration on his own gravity, and sank suddenly away.

Loki looked up into the ship. "Give me a rifle!"

"They're below deck, we'll never reach them!" Quill said. "Do you ride horses? That's some thigh strength you got for a scrawny guy."

"Cease your blathering, and give me something with which to kill him!"

Quill extended his hand imploringly. "Forget that! Get crawling up here! If you don't get moving, it doesn't matter if you kill him or not. You're going to be trapped between this ship and the dirt!"

Loki swallowed, looked down, and gauged they had less than a minute before that prediction came true. He fed his free hand back into the bark, and lifted Barton up until they were face to face again. "Can I trust you will not kill yourself if I release you?"

Clint pulled away from him, got his own handholds back, and started climbing. "All right. I'm all right. Moving, got it." He indicated Groot. "Get climbing, big guy, we'll follow you up."

The trio moved as one. Groot climbed through the vertical pilot's cabin, following Rocket's direction. Loki and Clint worked their way up his body from legs to chest, and, by the time he reached Quill, they were clinging to his shoulders. Groot extended his right arm, and they used it to bridge the corridor gap before hitting the bulkhead wall on their backs. Groot pulled his feet in, and squeezed past them to hover over the stairwell.

They lined up along the bulkhead. Clint, nearest the open corridor, Loki beside him. Quill came next, and then Rocket and Groot. There were no seat belts, no straps, no way to close the open corridor, and no stopping their descent. Groot reached across the four of them with his left hand, and grabbed the rim of the doorway. His roots began to grow, expand, and pressed each of them against the wall like individual rollercoaster harnesses.

"Is this a bad time to wonder where Gamora may be located?" Loki asked. His eyes were closed as he ticked the final seconds away in his mind.

"Oh – " Quill cursed under his breath. "Her room was locked."

"And you _left_ her in there?"

"I came up here to get tools, and someone just had to move all my stuff."

"If you use the term _stuff_ to really mean _junk,_ then yeah, we did that," Clint replied, trying to focus on anything besides the coming impact.

"What about that surly fellow with the disenchanted humor?" Loki asked.

"He didn't feel like getting up."

Loki meant to give him a wry expression, but could only see Clint. Barton shrugged one shoulder. It was a habit he picked up from having his injured one for so very long. "That actually doesn't surprise me at all."

"This entire team is the worst form of thrown together ingrates I have ever had the displeasure of fixing my eyes – "

The nose of the ship slammed home. Peter tensed up, letting out a howl as the ship flipped first onto its top, and then went into a pinwheel spin. Groot's tree limb arm collided with their chests while they rolled. The downed parachute tied up onto itself, flew over the shattered front view screen, and wrapped the ship up like a tortilla shell might surround inner burrito contents. Sand, rocks, occasional scattering lizards were all kicked up into the dusty dunes while the ship attempted to find a final rest. It seemed like an eternity passed before it finally cruised to a stop. One prong of landing gear attempted to extend through the tangle of parachute cords. The ship listed while it connected with the ground.

Loki's eyes opened gently. A few extra holes in the ship attempted to allow the sunlight in, though it was shaded through the massive canopy of grey and red fabric. He swallowed the faint taste of sweet blood in his mouth. There was a new cut along the side of his tongue where his teeth had connected with it. He blinked the world into focus, and checked on Clint first.

"I'm alive. Everyone can relax," Clint said. He shifted his chest a little to get one of his arms free, and tapped Groot. The long bark retracted back, and the line of four fighters were able to drop free.

"What mighty force has aroused me from my sleep?" A great voice boomed from what remained of the lower cabin. A Snap-On tool chest had rolled over the port hole leading down. Using one fist, Drax elevated the mass, and sent it three feet across the room. His bluish dome appeared in the wake. "I said I required rest."

"Well, sorry Ronin decided to come back from the dead and interrupt your beauty sleep!" Rocket told him.

"Sleep is not beauteous. It is required." Drax replied with severity.

Rocket threw his arms into the air in surrender, and focused his attention on combing around what remained of the cabin for any of his specialty weapons.

"GET OUT OF MY WAY!" Gamora roared from below.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Oh, great."

Clint indicated the room he shared with Loki. "Our weapons. My arrows. I bet that guy's still hovering around."

Loki helped clear a path in that direction. Across from them, Drax pulled himself into the upper deck, and a disheveled Gamora came rocketing right up behind him. Seeing Loki's attempted escape, she grabbed at him first, bypassed her anger over Quill's very existence, and directed all of her disdain to that off guarded Frost Giant.

"What did you do this time?!" She demanded.

"I did nothing!" Loki tried to say.

"Don't give me that. Every time you are on my ship, we end up stranded someplace!"

"I never intended to stay on this ship in the first place!"

"Oh, brother," Clint whispered, continuing on to the stateroom without him.

The cabin was a buzz of activity. Gamora and Loki continued their escalated argument, while Drax detailed the exact reason for his need to sleep a solid four and a half hours in sequence to Groot, who could really care less. Groot picked at a few growing buds he'd formed from the stress of the excitement. Rocket slapped his hands, told him to stop picking, and uncovered a crate of explosives he'd stored a few months back. Peter sidestepped the argument with Gamora, and slid below deck to retrieve the rest of their munitions. The Infinity Stone was already bouncing around in his pocket. When he came back, Groot helped him distribute the weapons, and Gamora managed to continue her argument while arming herself to the teeth simultaneously.

Clint slipped into the sideways stateroom, and looked around the mess to find his quiver. Most of the arrows had scattered. Tony and he had discussed adding a small magnet to the bottom of his quiver to keep them in place should such situations occur, but they hadn't taken the time to do that just yet. He gathered them up in handfuls, and slid them back into place. He picked up his jacket next and swung it on over his sleeveless shirt. The pockets were already lined in expandable arrows as extra munitions. Last, he looked for Loki's dagger.

"The only reason we found ourselves in that utter desolation, was one of us, who should _not_ have had any access to the navigation panel, suddenly took it upon herself to navigate!"

"I wouldn't have even been in the navigation seat if _someone_ didn't decide that _direction_ was an unnecessary folly that needed no heed paid to it!"

"You wanted to take us both to Thanos! Of course I wished to keep you as far from the navigation as possible!"

"I didn't want to take us to Thanos, I wanted to take us to another ship with which to escape, and you wouldn't believe me!"

Just beyond the open door, Loki's voice joined Gamora's buildup, creating such a ruckus that half the galaxy might hear them. There had been twelve such blow-ups since first boarding the _Milano_, and each one revealed more and more of the dynamic between them. Clint had begun to recall those shadows of memories he'd shared with Loki once. The result was eye opening.

When Loki was first banished from Asgard after his fight with Thor, he fell into the expanse of the Nine Realms. Everyone at first assumed he was dead. Few mourned him.

During that time, Loki's Frost Giant roots expanded, keeping him alive in the vacuum, cold, and desolation of space by surrounding himself in a cocoon of ice, not unlike Steve Roger's miraculous Rip Van Winkle effect. He was picked up by a passing trawler first and, not really understanding what they'd discovered, the men thought to take his frozen form somewhere that might fetch a good price.

Coincidentally, that ended up being the Collector. He was a large scale eccentric. Known throughout the universe for the oddities in his private trove, he only paid premium prices for the rarest of all creations. Loki's frozen body was irresistible to him.

Loki came to his senses again in the heat and throng of Knowhere. It took very little to break free from the Collector's bonds and attempt to escape. It was during that effort, he ran headlong into Gamora herself. She was there on Thanos' work, looking for the staff that eventually granted Loki his powers, among the Collector's things. When he refused to give it up to her, she nearly destroyed him. Loki stole aboard her ship while she was distracted. There, they first met.

Loki wanted the staff. She wouldn't give it up. Hovering over the galaxy on their way to Thanos' lair, they fought for the first time. The last person Loki wanted to be trapped serving was that sadistic man. And, still young in life, Gamora wished to defend Thanos from Loki's perceptions. Time, close quarters, and Loki's incredible persuasion eventually converted her the way it did most people he met.

He was suave, smooth-talking, and the only man she'd ever met from the Nine Realms. If Thanos got him, she knew the only thing he'd want would be to use him against that system of worlds for which he held no current sway in. She decided, instead, to help. Loki didn't trust her. He didn't trust anyone.

In his attempt to escape her, he only dug himself deeper into Thanos' hands until there was no escape route left to him. Locked, trapped, and alone, Loki made a deal to get himself out of the sadist's dungeon. He would conquer Midgard for Thanos, and bring the second Infinity Stone, the Tesseract, to Thanos.

If he'd trusted Gamora to get him out, he would have never made a deal with Thanos. If Loki had never appeared at all, Gamora might still be his mindless slave. If she hadn't attempted to trust her adopted sister with Loki's existence, he would have never been found out to begin with, and may have passed through Thanos' kingdom without being seen.

Blame fired between the two of them like cannonballs from passing ships. Clint had given up attempting to separate them after the seventh round.

Looking at the situation from Loki's mindset made Clint smile a little. He could sense a sort of emotion between them that may have once been based on a budding physical attachment. As someone who'd fallen in love with Natasha a long time ago, he could understand those feelings immediately. Loki, who firmly stated he'd never loved before in his life, did not translate those feelings with any form of passion. One day he might. But today, with a dead Kree warrior waiting to destroy them, was not that day.

Clint searched around Loki's bedroll to find the Frost Giant's dagger. It wasn't often the man walked around without it, but he made exceptions occasionally when they slept. He pulled back the bottom covers, and blinked down at the floor in surprise. He lifted his head and looked back through the door, where Loki's back was turned to him while Gamora and he continued to dress each other down. Someone found it necessary to arm her.

Clint looked back at the floor. He lowered his hand, and probed the long, finger nail marks carved into the metal. They resembled the claw marks of a trapped animal attempting to escape. A creature screaming in his nightmares and thrashing his way out. The marks were deep, days or weeks in the making.

"Hey, Hawk, I think our dead friend is back!" Quill called from next door.

Clint found the dagger beneath Loki's pillow, and grabbed it. He threw the bed clothes back over the scratches in the floor so Loki wouldn't suspect he knew. When this was over, he imagined they needed to have a rather in-depth conversation about the true secrets Loki was hiding from him. Clint bumped him from behind, and handed over the dagger. The distraction was long enough to end the fighting temporarily.

"If you two are finished making sweet love, then can we please focus on the fact that we all might be dead in twenty minutes?" Clint told them. He shoved by and headed to where Quill reclined on the top of their old mess room cabinets. Most of the doors were flung open, spilling their contents all over the floor. A box of Rice Crispies had exploded, along with another container of Cocoa Puffs and a few things he had no name for. Clint stepped over them to make it onto the cabinet with Quill.

"Is it really Ronin?" he asked, pressing in for a better look. There was a hole in the side of the ship. The wind whipped through a tear in the parachute, and gave them brief glimpses at the herald beyond. He was standing across from the ship with his mallet in one hand. He waited.

"He wasn't always that big," Quill said.

"I seriously hope not."

"So, how exactly did our old, dead enemy end up showing here to shoot us out of the sky?"

"I don't know, but let's see if he bleeds." Clint opened his hand, and called his Asgardian bow. It appeared against his palm. He removed an arrow from his quiver, and set it against the string. Quill backed up to give him a little room. As the parachute fluttered out of the way, Clint slowly released the arrow. The projectile launched across the sandy moon until it stuck directly over the herald's heart. Quill pushed back into the small hole to watch.

"That's it?"

"Do you even know me?" Clint asked dubiously.

The herald raised his hand to remove the arrow from his chest armor, but stopped halfway when a mighty explosion shot him off his feet. Clint and Quill both flew forward into the side of the kitchen tile as the explosion hit the _Milano_ like a fist. The two of them rolled off the cabinet and hit the floor with the pile of pans and cereal. Clint shook off the ringing in his ears and smiled a little at the shocked look on everyone's faces.

"I think I added a little too much nitroglycerine to the latest arrowheads."

"I think my spleen is bleeding!" Quill complained, rolling off of a pan.

Clint dragged himself to his feet, and brushed the Crispies from his hair. "Come on, Quill! That won't keep him down long!"

"You go, I'll catch up next year!" Peter groaned, pushing up on his fists. Standing over him was a cross-armed Rocket, looking utterly dejected.

"You're an embarrassment to me," he said, whipping out a gun taller than himself. "I just don't get how I haven't stabbed you lately. Come on, Groot, let's go kill us a dead guy!"

* * *

What excitement! What's coming next? What has Loki screaming in the night? Stay tuned!

Next time: Rinon's motives, dance off, and the return of an evil so great from Clint's own past!

Thank you for being so kind with you reviews! Please keep them up!


	22. Chapter 20

Thank you SO much to:::

discordchick : HEHEHEHE... expect some fun surprises to come!

amy. .9 Rinon is a little well of who-knows-what's-gonna-happen:)

Batghost: Rocket has been SO much fun to write. I never anticipated how much until now. And you are COMPLETELY right. some how I mixed up the spelling. Ronan the Accuser it is!

Ms. Hawkeye things are gettin hairy...!

m klindt all the musical prowess of my reviewers gives me the warm and fuzzies:)

Fury-Natalia I didn't think i'd see the day either, but you know gamora just started whispering to me and crap happens

* * *

**I Can Hear the Drums  
**

Chapter 20

Hyacinths and oleander, mixed in the scents of rose, lily, and baby's breath. The green foliage swept together in the artificial wind that crossed Natasha's path, carrying with it a packet of seeds that caught on the air and danced by. She'd seen so little of the Voiya Rose already, that the quest to find Rinon again took her to the very heart of the ship itself. She had no idea that its core was so teaming with life.

A door slid back, allowing her to enter nothing less than the very jungles of Earthenden or Woodrenkell. Massive trees intertwined in a canopy above her head, hiding within its limbs the sounds of foreign birds and the buzz of insects, though she saw none. The sounds seemed to move, and yet they repeated. A loop of echoes that surrounded her on all sides, in a completely immersive world within a world. She tracked down the closest of them, and swept her hand to the side of a copse of massive leaves. A sound player was embedded into the growing bark of an oak. An artificial environment.

Tony had built something like this in Stark Tower's food court, though on a much smaller scale. He'd stop short of growing real grass and real trees, though the facsimiles were impossible to tell from the authentic. Leave it to Alfheimr to take that extra step where no one else could. Above her, the canopy lit up as a slow-building rumble took over the sky. A sprinkler system was raining somewhere port side. It might have been another half mile before she reached it to see. If Rinon was hiding anywhere, this had to be it.

Since his confrontation with the two, no one had seen the general, save for his closest allies, Reylano Great Tree and Yiri Mist Watch. Natasha wasn't looking for an opportunity to kiss and make up, but she did want answers. Getting those out of an elf like Reylano, had about as much effect as cleaning a grease vat with lard. He virtually swore an oath of silence, leaving the Avengers more confused and disengaged since before they entered the peculiar halls of Rinon's flagship. If they'd been back on the Gateway, she might have appealed to his ie-koh, Fehreh. The former queen was the diplomat of the relationship, and having the two separated, resulted in a peculiar sort of seclusion in the elf. Fehreh might have spilled all their secrets, despite her loyalty to him.

Stark searched for a while but complained about needing a nap. Most likely he wanted a chance to spy around the ship without being discovered. He seemed different since leaving Earth behind. He kept to himself more, hid in his room and managed the lab work from there. She figured it was because of Clint and Banner being gone. Tony was never quite right without his male buffers.

"Rinon?" Natasha called into the wilderness around her. She didn't expect to run into any actual wildlife here, though she was keenly aware of the dangerous beasts lurking in the real Woodrenkell. The Faralirs with their antlered feline heads, a double death to those threatening to cross them. Rinon's four dire wolves, too, posed just as a much a threat as any able bodied soul. She knew at least one of them was on the ship. It was a female, Laice, and littermate to Clint's old wolf Arrow. Where Arrow formed an impenetrable bond with Clint, Laice had found Rinon. He never traveled far without her by his side.

The woodland offered no reply to her call beside the rhythmic flow of synthetic sound. Natasha continued to push through it, crossing babbling brooks, whose waters flowed through platforms of pebbles. She swept massive ferns aside, their gentle edges caressing her hair like the rim of a feather. Here, the scent of earth, rain, lightning, and growth permeated like a mist. It wasn't long before she forgot completely that she was on a ship that rocketed through space faster than the speed of light.

The sound of a scuffle turned her head to the left. She'd been following the thunder of a waterfall. The idea of seeing it had placed her initial mission of finding the elf to the back of her mind. A sense of exploration replaced the need to be diligent, but the apparent existence of sentient life returned Natasha to her wits again. She heard the expulsion of air from two hanging jowls, the chuff of a wolf, and circled a slab of rock wall to find its owner.

"Hello, Laice." Natasha said, smiling.

The wolf's head was massive, like a boulder sitting on five foot legs and a body as long as a Chevy Cruise. The size of the rest of her was more equitable to a draft horse than any current member of the canine species found on Midgard. The wolf extended her nose and sniffed Natasha's shirt. No doubt she could smell Barton on her.

"He's not here." Natasha explained. After years of working with Arrow, she stopped feeling strange about conversing with wolves. There was something different about their species. They might not be able to speak the way a human could, but they understood very well.

Laice seemed disappointed. She wasn't bonded to Barton by any means, but he used to be a wolf owner once. That was a rare occurrence in any realm. When Arrow was killed by Clint's own brother, he was never the same again. He didn't want another dog, but he eventually acquired a one-eyed mongrel from his deceased wife, Marie. Lucky lived at the archery range now, enjoying the treats all the customers brought in for him.

"I thought you may come for me."

Laice lifted her head away to reveal Rinon sitting on the waterfall bank. His back was to Natasha as he considered the ripples of water stretched below him. His regal clothes and tricolored swords were gone. He was sitting plainly in an old doublet as he stripped a long leaf down along its veins and set it floating into the pool. Laice returned from the side of the falls, and trotted away from them. There was a stone slab jutting from the water, creating a T-shaped platform with a cleverly placed fallen oak. The dire wolf mounted the tree, and settled down on it. Her chin propped between the dinner plate-sized paws to watch them.

Natasha laid her hand under Laice's chin, and rubbed the tuft of fur there as she moved past to sit at his side. The water was covered in the little leaf rafts he'd already set sail. "I came to talk," she said.

"Veň aê ulilö, ni." _No, you (have) come to listen_, he replied.

"I don't speak any elvish."

"I forget." Rinon tore another strip, analyzed its edges, and set it into the water.

"You are one of the strongest leaders I've ever known. Which says a lot. I don't compliment people very often. Clint thinks the world of you, which is enough for me most days." Natasha reached into the pool, and picked up a handful of his scraps. "What you are doing now, though, is scaring a lot of people that are looking for a someone to hang out to dry." She plopped the handful down beside his knee. "You aren't acting sane."

Rinon was midway through tearing a second piece when Laice lifted her head. She huffed, thumping her trunk-sized tail into the log. The leader's hands froze. His entire body seemed to stiffen, from the fingers, to the arms, then upward until his head began to angle back as if looking at the sky. His eyes were opened, unfocused. He stopped breathing.

"Rinon?" Natasha asked. Her concern piqued, the more still he became. This wasn't just elven mannerisms taking him over. Something was seriously wrong. "Rinon!"

She went to grasp his arm, but the wolf suddenly snarled, shocking her into pulling back. Natasha looked over to see whether or not a gape of open jaws were currently aimed for her head, but Laice had lost interest in her. She seemed only to want to prevent Natasha from touching him, nothing more. If that was all it took to not get devoured, then Natasha felt no shame in following orders.

Rinon continued to stare into nothing. He didn't blink, move, or speak. His entire attention was focused someplace far away, as if he'd been absorbed into a type of seizure. Laice was mildly concerned, but not enough to leave the comfort of her log so long as Natasha kept her distance.

After a time, Rinon's entire body sank. He hit the grass in a heap as if he'd been held up by only the invisible strings of some hidden puppeteer. He gasped to return the swells of oxygen to his deprived lungs. Natasha closed in again, and with him beginning to come around, Laice made no objection to it.

"Can you hear me, now? Can you see me?" She asked, her hands hovering over the perspiration that erupted on his forehead.

"Ylḕvru, vrala-ie-ae. They come more often now. Fiercer, as we draw closer to the Nine Realms. I do not wish to frighten you."

Suddenly his distance, Reylano's fierce protectiveness made sense. Rinon might have found out years ago, and taken steps to preserve his realm in the aftermath. Natasha realized all at once they had him all wrong. He'd made his pact between himself and Thor. If Rinon died, that truce with Asgard might crumble. An armada created for their safety assured some semblance of protection. Stepping down from his reign, too, fit into that scenario. Natasha wasn't sure why she hadn't seen it sooner.

"You're ill?" She guessed. "That's what you told Clint. How bad is it?"

Rinon remained on his back for a time, attempting to absorb what his body wanted to reject. "We have discussed something of the sort," he admitted.

"You made Clint swear not to tell us?"

"I did not find the necessity." He slowly pushed himself up. Natasha helped him lean back against the side of the waterfall stones. He was shaken, but recovering, from the fit he had.

"I guess you're right, because he didn't say anything to us about it." She shook her head a little as she sighed. "It figures."

"You do not seem surprised at this discovery," he whispered, closing his eyes.

"I guess I should be, but nothing else has gone right, lately. Why should this? I just thought that maybe, for once, I would get something that I wanted. I didn't even know I wanted it. I didn't even think I could have anything good in this life, and it looks like I've been right all along." Natasha turned her face away toward the once crystal pool filled with leaf stems. Laice watched her, thumping her tail as if to bring a smile to Natasha's face. The move only reminded the Avenger of Arrow, which brought memories of Clint, and that nearly felled her.

Rinon reached forward, and placed his hand around her arm. Natasha pulled away from the intimate embrace out of habit more than melancholy. She even offered an apologetic smile. Not many ever received that rarity from her.

"I want to help," Rinon said.

"If you're dying, I don't see how you can," Natasha replied. She nodded toward him. "So what is it, anyway? Has Banner quantified your every ail with that new lab he's been graced with? You don't have the UIC virus do you?"

He shook his head from left to right. The silver locks falling out of place with the movement.

"Cancer? Do elves get cancer?"

Another shake. No.

"Then what is it?"

"I am not dying." _But someone, close to us, is,_ he wanted to add, but kept the words to himself. He might on occasion feel the death rattles that come with a loved one facing his imminent demise. Telling her that these visions, the pain he was swamped in stemmed most likely from his connection with Barton would not help ease her mind.

The corner of Natasha's mouth downturned slightly. Her eyes narrowed. "Ok, you've got me."

"The Sarhorn told you that I might save Barton's life if I remained close to him."

The confusion deepened. Natasha's body spun toward him as she scrutinized the crevices in his face. Nothing, again, communicated the depth of his thoughts to her. He was as much that alabaster statue now as he ever was. "How could you know what he told me? We were alone. I know we were alone, and I haven't told anyone about that night. Even Clint."

"It does not matter how I know. What matters, are the steps we take from this point," Rinon replied simply. He spread his hands, and laid them on his knees. "We have a severe dilemma laid before us. It may help if you knew the full depth of it. I have come here attempted to see a way around it, but have found none."

"Tell me."

"Midgard is under attack."

:(:):(:):

Clint stood across from the visage of Ronan the Accuser, deceased Kree warlord and Herald for Galactus, with every measure of precaution he could take. Rocket stood to his left with what amounted to a canon in his hands, perched on Groot's shoulders. Quill had two rifles and one grenade launcher. A finger, somehow, on every trigger. Gamora's longsword waited to taste its second round of Kree blood. Drax simply slammed one fist into the other, and hoped to be unleashed. Loki stuck closely to Clint's side, and prepared for anything.

The exploding arrow did damage. The silver armor mushroomed outward from the point of impact like a flower blossom, and exposed a second, harder shell beneath. Clint had a second arrow already waiting to be used, and planned to center it right over that chest piece. The robe, which once covered Ronan's face, lay in a tattered mass, blowing in the breeze like a forgotten old flag. Ronan's lifeless, black eyes continued to stare at nothing.

"_Thing about a shark; it's got lifeless eyes, black eyes, like a doll's eyes. When it comes at you, it doesn't seem to be livin'... until he bites you – "_ Peter quoted, in his best impression of the famous JAWS sea captain. He smiled at Barton, who did not smile back. "Aww, come on, that was funny!"

"You!"

The entire line jumped back, as Ronan finally spoke for the first time since they exited the ship. Peter fired two of his three rifles, Rocket released his first massive power blast, and the others ran backward a comfortable distance to avoid the fallout from all three.

"Dude, that scared the absolute crap out of me," Quill admitted, holstering his left gun via the strap around his chest, and swiped his hand over his face. "The last time we beat this guy, all I had to do was dance. I think we need some tunes."

Now, Clint looked at him. "You did _what_?"

"We had a dance off."

"You cannot _possibly_ be serious," Loki said.

"Oh, he's serious all right," Rocket replied, cranking back the firing pin on his proton blaster, and ejecting his first spent cartridge. "Shoulda seen the look on the guy's face."

As the dust, smoke, and fire settled from the three shots they landed, Ronan stepped forward to meet them again. His mouth opened, and this time no one cut him off short. "My master is returning to claim what is his. You are all standing in the wake of his coming glory. None in the universe shall stand when his mighty hand falls. I require the Infinity Gauntlet to complete my task. You will surrender it to me for a quick death in return."

Rocket pulled the trigger on his second proton shell, and landed a direct hit to the Herald's face. He shrugged at the others. "What? He was being all creepy. People like that freak me out."

The Herald took another step forward, the long samurai-like helmet that once framed his face suffered similar damage to that of his chest piece. He paid it no heed.

"I have come to control what it is you fear."

Simultaneously, his arms raised, the massive hammer arcing into the air. He spread his hands out to either side of him, and suddenly, a great shriek escaped from his body. Clint crumbled back between Loki and Peter. They covered their ears against the sonic blast, but could do nothing to stop the physical attack when the Herald's hands came smashing together like the Hulk himself.

Barton struggled to right himself. He pulled the arrow nock against his string, and meant to let it go, but his target shifted out of his line of sight. In fact, he completely split in half. Clint kept the tension on his bowstring as he watched the massive form of Ronan divide into much smaller forms. He duplicated like one of the X-men might, and soon, there were many of them ringing the group in a circle. They had slightly altered shapes. Their sizes had fractioned, and some began to shift their form altogether.

Clint watched the alterations of the others, while his own took form.

Peter stood across from Ronan still. Drax, however, was met with the sight of Thanos. Gamora had an unknown assailant. Loki saw the old leader of Jotenheim, his biological father, Laufey. A real life Texas Chainsaw Massacre man revved the engine to his gas propelled weapon opposite of Groot, and a white coated scientist wielding an electrified catch pole stood beside him for Rocket.

Fears, Clint told himself, looking at them all. This wasn't Ronan, Thanos, or any of the others. This was a single peculiar being unlike anything he'd ever faced before, who somehow managed to channel their very fears into a physical shape. He had no doubt these specters would give just as hard of a wallop as the real thing. He gulped, pulling his pull string a little tighter as he decided to look at what old foe had come for him.

Clint released the arrow prematurely. He quaked on his knees, and dropped into the moon sand as he saw the man.

It wasn't possible.

It couldn't be.

He'd buried him once and for all.

It was...his father.

* * *

holy crap, holy crap... Midgard under attack? Tony? and Clint's daddy issues?!

Next time: Clint revisits childhood, Rinon's vision, Natasha begins to change, and a missing elf

Thank you for being so kind with you reviews! Please keep them up!


	23. Chapter 21

Welllll I did a boo boo, I accidentally posted this chapter under Avenge me. Then when I deleted it to fix it, I deleted the chapter entirely. then I didn't have any of the additions that I made.

now I'm sad.

Crap.

Chapter 21

"You're dead." Clint whispered to himself. He didn't want to see the ghost of his past. He'd never before faced the old man after those years he'd finally put his nightmares to bed once and for all. But there he was. Standing across from him with a nine millimeter in one hand, and a beer bottle in the other.

The ether form of that massive Ronin model had shrunken down behind Clint's father into another accompanying shock. It was his mother, Edith Barton. She sat on the ground with her old flower skirt cascading around her, one fist sailing up toward her mouth where her tar-stained teeth nervously gnawed at it. Her eye was black and blue from where old Harold Barton had slammed his fist into it, shattering the socket.

Clint was eight years old again, watching from the ground as his father strode toward him with that bottle in one hand and the gun in the other. He never told the Avengers about the guns. He'd told them much about his old life once. He even brought them to that haunted trailer in Iowa where he used to live. He told the team almost everything then, with the promise that never again would they ask about the shattered past he'd come from. They held up their side of the bargain.

"There you are. You little, ungrateful, piece of – " His father cursed at him. He lifted the bottle to his lips, and swirled the contents into his mouth, where he swished them through his clenched teeth before swallowing.

"Harold, don't! He's just a little boy, he doesn't know any better." Edith might have screamed, but she wouldn't. She knew better.

"Should teach him better than to defy his old man." Harold said, striding closer. Clint was paralyzed watching him come. The sounds of the others' struggles faded to nothing at all.

He didn't hear as Gamora screamed, Groot's arms suffered detachment, and Rocket fought viciously against his attacker. He didn't see as Loki attempted to murder his own father a second time, or Peter tried dancing and shooting his way out of a second round with Ronin the Accuser. None of them mattered.

Only Harold did. He told himself it was ridiculous. He was a man now, not a child to be bullied, beaten, and belittled. He could defend himself, where that child in his past couldn't. He had to move. Now!

The simple pistol raised, and fired almost too soon for Clint to avoid. But he did spin away, and drew an arrow against his string to bury into his father's chest. The first arrow hit, and absorbed right into the skin. Harold looked down at his chest, and watched as, first the point, shaft, then fletches entered and disappeared. He smiled at Clint in that old, sick way he had.

"Well, someone's been a bad boy."

Clint pulled another arrow. He peeled away from the group to reach his mother, and fired endlessly at the encroaching form of Harold Barton. He hit the gun first, skittering it away. Then he aimed for the man's forehead, snapping it back with a sick _thunk_ of whiplash. Harold recovered from it all, and continued toward him like an unstoppable zombie force. Clint released his bow, and the Alfheimr metal disappeared into thin air. He stooped next to his mother, and grabbed her up, throwing his body between Harold and her.

"It's all right, I have you, now. I can protect you. Just stay back, I can stop this."

"Clint!" She whispered into his ear. He choked up at the sound of it. He hadn't heard the sweet ghost of her voice since the morning she'd died. He wanted to hold her, to cry against her, to save her all at once. But someone stood between him and her, and that was always his father.

"I'm going to kill you for what you did to us." Clint growled.

Harold laughed. It brought a chill to his spine.

"Kill me?! You heard that boy, Eddy? You heard that tone he took with me?!"

Impossibly fast, the visage of Harold came at him. His hand connected with Clint's throat, lifted the archer up, and body slammed him into the sand. He clamped down, bringing his face deadly close to the trapped Avenger. Superhuman strength immobilized Clint like an insect on a scientist's pin. Edith dropped to her knees by Clint's face, stroking his hair with her hand, but doing nothing to rescue him.

"You're worthless to me. Useless to me. What do you call me?" Harold demanded.

Clint gritted his teeth, trying to fight the words through compressed vocal cords.

Harold's free hand chambered back, and rocketed down into the soft spot where Clint's missing rib lay. The breath of oxygen Clint had managed to save, released in a whoosh of air.

"Mr. Barton." Harold seethed. "You call me _mister_. I ain't your father. You ain't nothing. You ain't worth keeping around to mop the floor with."

Edith smiled, her face still as radiant as the sun Clint saw in her every day of his childhood. She stroked her hand down the side of his face, and said in that soft, whispering voice, "I'm sorry, Clint. You're my baby boy, but you can't save me. No one can save me."

"Barton!" Loki cried.

Clint heard his voice like a beacon blazing in the fog. He watched as Harold's visage produced another weapon, and felt the reverberation of the gunshot that cut through his mother's chest. A stream of blood splattered the side of his face as the woman turned in the air above him and collapsed. Her hand still draped over his hair.

"NO!" Clint screamed. He worked one of his collapsing arrows out of his pocket, and with a flick of his wrist, extended it. He jammed the arrowhead into Harold's back, causing the man to recoil with the gun still in his hand.

The next shot went wild. His steel grip released from Clint's neck, and the son fought his way out from under him. He called his bow to his hand, and cracked the man across the chin with the limb. He pulled another arrow and fired it into his skull. Then he drew a second, an exploding tip, and fired that with the same ferocity of the first.

He had ten seconds to get out of the way. Clint leaned over and grabbed his mother's body. He dragged her into his arms, and ran for it. The sand slowed him down. The moon pulled at his boots, and sucked at his every step. Loki screamed for him again, But Clint was running the opposite direction, with the woman bleeding and dying in his arms.

The world exploded in light. He threw himself forward into the dirt as everything around them shattered in a hail of shrapnel. Clint set his mother down on a long slab of rock. He cradled her head in his hand, and desperately tried to stop the flow of blood from the gunshot wound his father had given her.

"I'll fix this. I can fix this. Don't leave, again. Madre, listen to me." Clint knew he had to be crazy, but for some reason she felt so real under his touch. She had that same cigarette scent, and the faint wisp of Italian perfume she'd gotten from her mother thirty years before. His adult self fell right back into the eight year old child, wanting to desperately save the one good thing he loved in his life: his mother.

Edith Barton reached up, and stroked the side of his face with the back of her hand. "Bello, bello. My beautiful little boy."

"Don't move. We can get you back on the ship. I'll bring you to Asgard, to Alfheimr, I don't care where. Just hang on for me, ok?"

"Barton, listen to me!" Loki screamed. Something sailed toward Clint's direction, but the archer was too distracted trying to stem the blood flow from his mother's chest wound to care.

"You can't save me," his mother whispered, smiling a little through the pain.

The words struck him to the core. He'd heard them for so long, years even, every single time his father came at her and Clint thought to defend her. She never wanted him to try. Didn't think she was worth saving. She called him young and beautiful, her little boy, but she'd never let him do any more than stand on the outside looking in. In his adult life, Clint often fell back into those same words she'd whispered to him. He'd fought with Tony countless times about them.

"Don't say that, Madre."

Her hand remained on the side of his face. Her blue eyes, a reflection of his own, pierced through him. "My little Iowa boy. One day you're going to go to college. Be my little Hawkeye. My little Iowa Hawkeye."

Loki collided with Clint from behind, tearing him away from his mother and tackling him against the rock slab. Clint flipped onto his stomach, and grabbed the frost giant by the collar.

"Get off me!" Clint fought him.

"She is not real!" Loki fought back. He saw the flash of silver in the corner of his eye and, grabbing Barton's shirt, he rolled them sideways beyond the blade's fall. Edith Barton had a knife waiting along her side, ready to filet Clint alive.

Clint looked back at Loki.

"Believe me now?!" Loki asked.

"I think my dead mother just tried to kill me." Clint said in a daze.

"This Herald of Galactus means to break us by presenting our fears. Though it is not our fears that will murder us, but that which we protect." Loki said. He shoved Barton off, and they made it to their feet beside one another. Harold Barton was gone forever, but Edith recovered, and came limping back for round two. Across the way, Laufey caught Loki's location, and he too approached. Shuddering at his back was Loki's apparent care in the world, someone Barton never expected.

"I will take yours." Loki told him. "I believes our witless fool may need relief of his own."

Clint noticed Drax falling under the weight of, not only his hatred for Thanos, but the two others huddled on the ground behind him. It was his wife and child, murdered by Thanos' order. He might be able to overcome Thanos, but with the emotion of his dead family playing against him, he fell remarkably easy.

"You're right. We're fighting this all wrong." Clint said. He drew an arrow on his bowstring, and sent it reeling between Thanos's shoulder blades. The visage stumbled, and turned to face his new opponent.

"Everyone, switch up! Stop playing into its hand!" Clint instructed.

He moved away from Edith Barton, leaving her to Loki, and instead drew Laufey away separately. For once his tunnel vision expanded.

Groot needed a hand. Literally. He'd been shaved down by the chainsaw-wielding psychopath to nothing more than a torso and head.

Rocket might have defended him, if he wasn't currently doing everything in his power to scramble up the side of the Milano and out of the scientist's path. Gamora was bent over backwards, while the razor edge of a knife played along her throat. And, a few feet away, Peter was trying to drag his own mother from the swinging hammer of Ronin.

For Rocket and Groot, they were each other's worlds. Replicating their forms made little sense to the peculiar changeling Herald. Gamora's adopted sister, Nebula, appeared as an emotional counterpoint.

Clint avoided Laufey's swinging ice sword, and skid across the sand on his knees to come up behind the chainsaw man. He had an arrow already palmed in his hand, pulled it back and slammed it home in the base of the Herald's neck.

"I am Groooot!" Groot exclaimed in concern.

Clint stooped beside him, dragged the stump under his arm, and took off across the sand. The explosion threw him forward. He hit his hands and knees, dropping Groot, who continued to slide until he stopped beside the scientist's legs. Groot smiled a little at the creature, before falling to his side and clamping onto him with freshly grown splinter teeth. The chainsaw creature disintegrated into the sand.

"Aim for the heads!" He called to the others. "You might have to decapitate them, but aim there first!"

Laufey returned, swinging his ice sword again. Clint dropped, spun around him, and slammed his bow against the creature's back. To his left, Rocket dropped from the side of the ship onto the scientist's shoulders, where he proceeded to rail against him. Gamora threw her opponent forward, moved away, and made a running tackle, which threw Ronin into the dirt and left Peter open. As for his own mother, Clint didn't want to know what Loki was doing to her.

Laufey leaned to the left, brought his sword straight into the air, and slammed it down. Clint barely managed to slip between his legs and avoid being cut in half. He snatched another expanding arrow from his clip and jumped up, scissoring his legs around Laufey's chest and tossing him off balance all at the same time.

With the frost giant in the dirt, he raised the expanded arrow tip, and meant to crash it into the frost giant's neck. Laufey raised his left arm in a frozen fist, and caught Clint in the shoulder. Barton hit the ground. Laufey's hand spread over his chest, and the ice sword raised to pierce him through.

:(:):(:):

The sounds of the waterfall filled the silence that stretched between Natasha and Rinon both. Laice settled her head back onto her paws, and watched them converse with only a mild interest. In the absence of other elves, she'd taken on the task of Rinon's babysitting. The longer Natasha sat across from him, the more she realized he needed it.

Later, if they survived all of this, someone might name it the War of Secrets. It seemed wherever she turned, that was all she came across. More revelations, lies, and hidden truths. The skeletons in people's closets were piling up like a college anatomy lab. Everywhere Natasha turned, another came pouring out.

"Midgard is under attack. How would you know that? You spoke to the Sarhorn too?" She deduced.

Rinon considered what he might say. Where he might normally consider lying, that thought stopped instantly when he remembered Laice's presence. While she was loyal to a fault, she also had a unique intolerance for deceit. She would ferret him out in an instant.

Then again, Natasha had already done the same thing. She could clearly see that private struggle he wrestled over, and waited for him to decide his own truth before calling his tall tales. Before he had that chance, however, Rinon began to stiffen again.

This time was less violent than the first, but still the fit overtook him like a wave. His eyes unfocussed, dulled, and became almost white. Before he receded completely from his conscious state, he extended his hand. He wanted to warn her, to stop her from trying to help him, but Natasha misunderstood his meaning. Despite Laice's snarl, Romanov leaned in and intertwined her fingers in his.

Her body became rock hard as every single muscle spasmed at once. Her face pulled back into a grimace as a silent scream formed in her throat. The snarls of Rinon's guardian faded into the background of the sights Natasha suddenly beheld.

It all happened as the Sarhorn predicted so long ago. It seemed like ages since they'd been standing in that hospital room, surrounding the dying Clint Barton, wondering how the world was all meant to end around them. But here it was; that day, seven years into the future, when everything the universe knew was threatened to die in a vortex that nothing, but the knowledge of Tony Stark, could contain.

They'd been told. They'd been warned. Why were they still so . . . unprepared?

Clint stood on the edge of the darkness itself. Here the landscape was little more than dunes of bluish sand swept over outcrops of jagged cliff spears. This desolation marked the epicenter of everything they had prepared for so long. Clint thought he had been removed from it all. The team swore that the archer would never see the heart of. Never see the battle, the evacuations, or anything Galactus-related if they could at all help it. Natasha stood a few paces behind him, watching him consider that utter desolation surrounding them.

She glanced into the sky, where the utter blackness blocked everything from view. The center pit of light, like a star swirling in a dying galaxy, waited to consume everything that was good in the world. In a single decisive blow, everything the fighting force had so carefully set in place, shattered. They could have never predicted the sheer power Galactus returned with. Standing on that bluff, with the gray hues of a dying sky swirling around him in dust devils.

"We're not going to make it." Clint whispered.

Natasha shook her head furiously. "I . . . I can't believe it." She told him. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not yet. They weren't ready. How did she get here? Where was Rinon? Tony? Everyone? She called out through the comm she felt in her ear. She screamed for the elf to come bck for her. To stop everything. That the time had suddenly come.

Above them, the glow of stars blotted out in masses, as if a fist wrapped its hand around them and squeezed. The world around them was in the midst of an evacuation. Natasha watched the dots of disappearing ships fading into the consumed horizon.

Natasha grabbed Clint's arm, and tugged him back from the ledge. Still, though, he stood firm. Why couldn't he leave? Why wouldn't he go?

"I can't leave." He said.

Natasha squinted at him. Her voice piqued in fragility. "What do you mean, you can't leave? Clint, we are going to die if we just stand here! That thing," she pointed up into the sky at the rapidly expanding void of Galactus. "Is going to swallow this planet and everyone on it!"

Clint stopped looking up into the stars that had disappeared behind the mass of black, and instead looked down into the equally repressive crevice at his feet. "I hid it there. Natasha, the Infinity Gauntlet, it's right beneath my feet. Down in that chasm. I took it from Pym. I had to take it, you don't understand what he planned to do with it. What I _did_ do. This is my fault." He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Natasha, if Galactus gets it, if he swallows this world, that's it for us. For everyone. I have to destroy it."

A cold hand reached into her chest, and clamped down on her heart.

"No!" Natasha said, firm, low, and resolute. "That's not happening, Clint. We planned this. Steve is going, not you. That was the plan!"

Clint tapped the communicator around his neck, and opened a line to the other teams of Avengers. His eyes never left Natasha's, and he never stepped away from that ledge. What could she do to make it all stop? To take this all away? Where was Rinon? Couldn't she go back? Stop all of this now, and go back to that moment on the ship?

"This is Clint. Where are you, Panther?" He asked calmly.

Natasha heard her own radio cackle with the echo of his voice in her ear. Where had that come from? There was a brief, curt reply with a word too fast to understand. Then nothing. Again, the line opened. Steve's voice, frantic in the background, yelling indistinguishable words. The line cut out a second time, and the dread in Natasha's heart filled.

"Again, this is Hawkeye calling Panther. What is your ETA?" Clint said a second time. He looped his thumb under the strap of his quiver, and pulled the strap tighter against his chest. Next, he took his hand, opened the palm, and felt the familiar weight of his Asgardian bow appear.

"T'CHALLA ARE YOU CRAZY!" Steve's voice screamed through the radio. "Clint! Clint, get Natasha, and get the HELL OUT OF THERE!"

Natasha's hand reached up and covered her mouth. Her pupils widened. Was this really happening?

"She is my wife! We are going to save her! Barton can run! She cannot!" Panther cried.

"T'Challa, don't be a fool! This is exactly what the Sarhorn said! Clint? Clint, please, can you hear me? Don't do it! Don't go down there! Clint, please listen to me!" Steve's desperate cries tried to rise above the Panther's mania, but Clint's mind was already made up. He'd decided the day he woke up in a hospital bed, and Peter Quill told him exactly what evil was to come. He'd trained Steve for as long as he could to take his place. To share this horrible fate, but, all the while, Clint knew the truth.

"You don't understand what I have to do." Clint said, even and flat, into the walkie.

"Natasha? Natasha, if you are there, stop him! Don't let him do this! I'm coming! I'll be there in twenty minutes, please give me time. Please! Just get away! Run!" Steve begged.

Natasha couldn't speak. Her eyes fixed on Clint. Couldn't this all end? "No, Clint, I don't understand. How did this happen, how are we here?"

"The Time Stone," Barton whispered to her. "Natasha, I'm sorry. I did what I thought I had to. I'm sorry."

"Clint…" she whispered.

Clint repeated to Steve what he'd told her. That the Gauntlet was down there, and the only way to stop it was for Clint to go down there and try to destroy it.

"You did your best, Cap. I know that. I always knew this is how it was going to end. I'm sorry I lied to you. I lie to everyone, though. Why should you be special?" Clint reached into his quiver, and extracted one of his elven arrows with Tony's concussive modification. Everything fell smoothly into place. Like bricks forming a wall. This was the very pinnacle of their achievement. The cornerstone of everything they worked so hard for.

Steve's voice echoed back like the voice of a dead man. "Clint… I'm not ready for this. Don't. Not for me."

Clint smiled a little. "What? Your hide not worth me saving, Cap? You know that's supposed to be my line. Who knows? I might miss. Then you'll have to come down here yourself and clean up this mess."

Natasha mouthed the words to him. Her voice flittered away like a terrified sparrow. "You never miss."

"I know I don't." Clint told her. "We gotta let the Cap think he's doing something though."

"Hawk – "

"Steve, I want you to open a communication line to all the other divisions. To the other Avengers. Look, we don't have a lot of time here, and I don't have time for you to keep arguing a point I'm never gonna let you win. I'm tenacious like that. I just want the chance to say goodbye to everyone, my way. When I jump, cut the comms. No one needs to hear what happens next."

Natasha, who at once put distance between them, as if somehow Clint might drag her over the side with him, finally overcame that disdain and pressed into his chest. She circled her arms around his back, and clasped the archer against herself. She expected him to fade away like a specter, to let this entire horrible world she appeared into, vanish. She buried her face into his chest, and begged for everything inside of her that the world might fade away, and she could return to Rinon and Stark and everyone on the Voiya Rose. She felt the air hitch in his chest as the emotion nearly felled him.

Half a world away, Steve opened the comms. Clint leaned into her, speaking into the straight red braid the elves on the ship wove her hair into. He spoke to her, to everyone, all at once.

"It's time for me to go. I wish it could happen some other way. I wish that I could stop this. We all had our parts to play. I don't blame anyone. Not Pym, Panther, or anyone else. You shouldn't, either. I'm doing this because it's going to save the ones I care about. I'm doing this because if I don't, we're all just going to die anyway. Goodbye. And Star-Lord, I made you a new mixtape. The Jackson Five sucks."

Natasha didn't want to laugh, or cry, or have any other emotion beside shock and horror, but Clint forced all those to come out in the same brief words. He took her tighter in his arms, and, against her back, he traced the tiny, sign language symbols he'd designated for her name. It was an overwhelming intimacy that threatened to unmake her all at once. She told Clint to stop. She begged him. It was real, and it was happening right now. Clint wouldn't wait. He'd never wait. He wasn't built for that. But Natasha could stop him. This wouldn't be his last goodbye, not if she could help it!

Looping the invisible wire around his wrist was perfectly simple.

Clint tore himself away. He faced the pit, said not a word more, and launched himself into the air. His freefall came to a sudden, jarring, halt. Clint's body spun in mid air. He twisted, strung up by a thin, tensile force wrapped around his wrist. He threw his head back, and looked up.

"Natasha, what are you doing!?" He demanded. The noose went taut the second he pulled up the slack.

"I can't… Clint, I can't let you go. Don't ask me to do this! There has to be another way!" She demanded desperately. This was all happening too fast!

With one hand, Clint held onto the riser of his bow. With the other, he held the elven arrow. If he released either, he might have no time to pick them up again before he passed by the Infinity Gauntlet.

"Natasha, you have to let me go. It's my time to go. You have to take your knife, and cut this line. I can't do that and save us at the same time. Do you understand me?"

Two eyes, dilated in disbelief, locked with his jasper shards. "I can't do that." She said, shaking her head in a desperate determination.

"You can." Clint encouraged, "You can, and you will. I'm sorry, Natasha. I'm sorry we never had the life that we should have had. I'm sorry for everything the Black Widow program did to you that kept you from really ever loving me. But if you ever did care about me, then do this. Cut the line, and let me save you. If you live, Nat, I live, do you understand? Let me go."

"Clint – "

"Natasha." Barton said, firm and gentle all at once. "Let me go."

She drew her knife, considered the thin line stretching from her wrist to his. She couldn't go over with him. She'd be in his way. He might even miss. He wouldn't want that. Why had she tried to stop him? Only to let this be her decision instead of his? Did she ever think she could really prevent him from taking that leap? Again, they locked eyes.

The twinkle of playfulness, of love, and camaraderie shone in Clint's dark eyes as he gazed up at her. "Good – "

Natasha sliced the line, and fell behind the ledge of grey lunar dust all at once. She felt like a fool who couldn't even watch. She saw the temporary confusion, hurt, and surprise as he released from that line and his arms wind milled in open air. Even in the comms, he never finished saying the word he'd begun to get out.

Goodbye.

Down, the archer fell. Impossibly fast, the Infinity Gauntlet rushed up at him, and Clint struggled to set his arrow back on the string. When he finally got the shot off, he was firing upward at the suspended metal gauntlet.

The explosion blasted out in all directions. He was blinded by the striking blue, red, orange, purple, and yellow light. His body slammed sideways against the crevice wall, before rebounding again and hurling feet first into the jagged, cold rocks below. His legs shot upward into his bent over chest and, all at once, he felt the dual SNAP of his femurs cracking in half. Natasha could hear the sickening snap and thud of his body as it hit the rocks below. He screamed as the pain shot through him.

Above him, Natasha sunk down besides the opening of the crevice. The explosion set off a chain reaction below her. The massive boulders of the crevice walls jumped in their bedrock, and slammed together like immovable slabs. Clint's only entrance, only escape, was blocked off instantly.

She wanted to tear the radio off her neck, but she was frozen in the shock of all she had done. The Infinity Stones fired off around her like six little comets. The Time Stone, Space Stone, Aether, Tesseract and all the rest warring between each other for dominance.

They jumbled in a mass of energized cloud, threatening to tear each other apart. One absorbed the other, and hurled it through time. A second absorbed a third, and shot it through space. One by one, Clint's perfectly placed explosion set off the chain reaction that destroyed the foundation of the Gauntlet itself, and thrust the Stones across the stars again.

Even as they began to scatter, Clint's screams continued to fill her ears. Alone, seeing nothing but Clint's look of fear as he fell away from her, and filled only with his screams, Natasha sank into the blue-hued soil and cried bitter, unforgiving tears. A voice seemed to enter her mind, whispering a single horrifying word.

_Mother,_ it said.

Mother. Her? That couldn't be! She was a Black Widow, it wasn't possible.

The vision faded. More images, memories, took its place. Clint fighting for his life in another desolate wasteland. An explosion of color. Loki screaming into the darkness of the night as his nails dug trenches into a floorboard.

Inhabitants of Alfheimr running, screaming from their homes as a shadow of evil cast over their lands. Then came Earth. She watched the siege take place. New York under attack from the Kree warships. A second influx of evil allies she'd never before seen. And lastly, the very world catching fire.

Natasha pulled herself away, and collapsed against the grass, gasping to find her breath again. From some distant place, Rinon was trying to speak to her.

"Forgive me. Forgive me, you were not meant to see. No one is meant to see. I can hardly contain them now the closer we come."

"Oh my God. He's dead. Clint's dead." She whispered into the grass, shaking from head to foot. She clasped her hands together, trying to get at least them to stop, but having no success at all. Natasha lowered to the ground, and laid on her side. It was too much for her to try and sit up and stop shaking all at once. Her stomach cramped. Something seemed to be squeezing her intestines together like a vice. For a moment of panic, she imagined something there, growing beneath her fingers and screaming in her body. The very panic of it made her scream.

"A vision alone. He yet lives, as far as I am aware."

Natasha couldn't stop shaking, gasping. She watched Clint's eyes on her over and over as she severed that line and watched him drop into oblivion. Her fault. Her fault he died. Her fault they lost him. The Sarhorn never said that it would be her. That second voice in her continued to scream in time with her own troubled mind.

"Is that what you're doing? Is that what you're seeing?" She cried.

"Increasingly." Rinon told her. "I had to leave Alfheimr. The Nine Realms. It has become increasingly difficult to function."

"Is that really what's about to happen to us?" Natasha struggled to clear her mind from that pounding hell reverberating in her skull. Rinon was right with his early words. The visions left a peculiar thrum behind, like a drum beat that matched her heart. The longer she gave it, the more it began to dissipate.

Rinon watched her. "You feel it beating against you. I have lived with that horrible pounding for twelve years. It never seems to leave. Now, it has escalated like the approaching doom I sense with my every bone."

"They are going to attack Earth. That's where it's going to happen." Natasha finally sat up, and rubbed a hand against her forehead. She still felt like she was spinning.

"An attack is coming, yes. And very soon."

"That's why you agreed to come yourself."

"La. Banner will be on one of those ships planning to attack Midgard. We will find him then. But if we do not move, very fast, many human lives will be lost. We must evacuate them."

"The evacuation. Why's it happening now? So fast? I thought we had time!"

"I do not know." He used the rock wall to help himself to his feet, and offered a hand to Natasha. "You have misunderstood my intentions in this armada. I have not created it to destroy, but to save. Svartalfheim is a neighbor to Midgard."

For once, Natasha finally felt as if the world of secrets was opening up to her. Taking his offered assistance, she stood across from him. "You made rescue ships."

"I knew they would be necessary, and did so as soon as I could, as many as I could. Alfheimr had not the space for such an endeavor, and we were forced to move closer to Midgard. We might have been found out, but it was a risk we had to take. We have since lost something very dear to us, and I asked Haladarrel to look into it personally when he came to Vanaheim. He wished to elicit Rellya's assistance."

Another revelation. "What happened?" She asked.

"One of our young Eyani` has disappeared. She resided on Svartalfheim, and studied directly under Doodle Bygrove himself. She showed experience, promise. He had great hopes for her."

"She disappeared."

Rinon nodded. "Along with many of our plans, most prominently those pertaining to the elven ability to cloak their devices. One of our ships went missing, and, with it, a great many of our supplies to accomplish such feats. Haladarrel hoped she had taken them to Vanaheim."

"But she wasn't there."

"Nai, and we found no evidence of our work until the attack of the Kree. I fear she has been aligned to their cause."

Natasha tried to imagine the implications of it. Kree weren't often known for kidnapping. They much preferred utter devastation and taking no prisoners whatsoever.

There was, however, one shadow still looming in the dark with which they had not yet encountered. Not only did he have a propensity to collect rare breeds, he also had a track record for stealing himself femme fatales. Perhaps it was time to stop considering Thanos as a background player in their game of war, and begin to treat him like the threat he truly was.

"We have to tell Tony."

Reluctantly, Rinon agreed.

:(:):(:):

He was tired. But not just tired, this thing that fell of him now was an exhaustion wrought by the wings of the horrifying growth necrosing in his abdomen. He occasionally fancied feeling it. The ball of cancer in his liver that radiated a dull, unending pain. Laying on his bed with the bottle of prescription medication by his face, Tony wondered if he had reached the point of needing to take one. The label read, Clint Barton with a physician friend of theirs, the prescriber. Morphine. They were left overs from his cancer treatment over a year ago and Clint had, fortunately, found them before departing off world. He'd been taking them for nearly three months and supplies were running very, very low.

Natasha might not know that the promise of refilling the bottle was one deciding factor for him returning to Earth when so much was left for him to do in Vanaheim. He would need a doctor too. Life was getting too hard for him to manage on his own for very much longer. He needed Banner and, he hoped that somehow he'd finally find his good friend. He was reaching a furious precipice with his own aging process. Soon, there would be nothing he could do to hide his physical changes.

Pepper deserved the truth. She often did, though he tended to resist giving it to her. He planned to come clean when they reached planet side. Clint should come next. He wanted to see his friend, tell him in person. Clint would understand, and God only knew what the man would do after that.

Tony frowned, reaching to the vial and extracted a pair of pills from it. He'd caught as much rest as he could before Natasha began wondering what happened to him. With the two pills heading south, he forced himself out of his bed.

Getting old was overrated. He never thought he'd be old. Being Iron Man was supposed to kill him years ago and in his surprised, it didn't. Now he suffered with the realities of himself, and those around him, falling apart. Pepper had done her second mammogram, Happy had his first prostate exam, Hank Pym had his first heart attack three years ago, and his second not long after. T'Challa was considering leaving heroing behind as the arthritis in his hands only progressed. The list continued on.

The facts were the facts. The Avengers were getting pushed out to let the young guys in. Tony wondered how long it would take for people to forget the name Tony Stark was ever associated with Iron Man to begin with.


	24. Chapter 22

NOTE! I posted 2 chapters tonight! Make sure you read 20 first!

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**I Can Hear the Drums  
**

Chapter 21

Drax appeared over Laufey's back. He grabbed the Frost Giant around the waist and hoisted him straight up and off of Clint. The archer scrambled to his feet, pulled the knife out of his boot, and sliced forward in a single, deep arc. The Frost Giant fell over backwards. His head separating from the remained of his body. Drax crushed the more important of the two beneath his boot. He held a hand out to help Clint stand.

"Thanks for saving my butt." Clint said.

Drax appeared confused. "I have not just saved your—"

"Metaphor! It's a metaphor." Clint waved his hand and started walking away. He returned to the rest of the battle field so he might survey the damage done. The herald's incantations were strewn around the sand and rock in various states of destruction. Quill was on his knees by the deceased body of his mother. He might have been sobbing, but it was difficult to say with his back turned to the others. Seeing the woman, made Clint think of his own mother, taken on by Loki. He caught a small glimpse of her dress blowing in the wind, but before he could consider drawing closer, the Frost Giant stepped into his line of sight.

"A fallacy to think the sight of that ogre might insight a response of emotion in me," Loki said, indicating Laufey's form.

"We all faced enemies and loves. My old man I've hated my entire life. He made me want to do whatever I could to save my mother who evidently was out to murder me," Clint replied. He looked up into Loki's face. "The only ones who didn't have two were Rocket and Groot. They're everything to each other and they never knew anything else. Then there's you. You only had Laufey. That means the other person you actually cared about is one of us."

"You dare imply something with those words!" Loki snapped his hand forward and clamped his fingers around Clint's throat. He squeezed mercilessly, but despite his assault, Barton remained standing and immobile.

"Hey, guys! I thought we already had the group fight," Rocket complained. He was perched on Groot's shoulder and strolled over on the tree man.

Loki held Clint a minute longer and eventually released. The last thing he wanted to handle at the moment was Clint's conspiracy theories. He already had enough on his plate.

Gamora gave the Frost Giant a slightly sympathetic look as he pushed past her toward the ship. It was then she realized just what sort of predicament they now found themselves in. "How exactly are we planning to get out of here now?"

Rocket shrugged. "I don't know, maybe if we glue that one with there and recycle the old fuel cells, we could turn it into a short-range Flight of the Phoenix kinda—" As he listed the options, the one remaining wing shuddered and broke off, nearly dropping on top of Loki who barely avoided it. He sighed. "Never mind. We're screwed."

"We can see if the communications work and send out a transmission to the rest of the fleet. Maybe if Pym's close by he can pick us up. At least we left our ship in Cross Lake. Looks like we'll need it now." Clint looked down at what remained of the Herald. "This guy went down pretty easy. I don't like it. So before we get too comfortable, Drax, gather these bodies up and get rid of them somehow. I don't want any cells left behind."

The Guardians set out to fulfill his requests. In the meantime, Clint took on his next challenge. He trudged over the moon landscape to come up behind Pete. The man hadn't even acknowledged the rest of the group. The wind whipped up around them on either side, pelting their backs in miniscule particles like a sandblaster. Clint's shoulders pushed up to tuck his head in against it. For the second time that war, he noticed he'd walked into battle in only his pajamas. He had to start making it a habit to sleep in his gear. Being a soldier in the War on Terror years ago, he'd done just that. Over time he'd gotten out of the habit.

Clint knelt down by Peter's side and tapped him. "You doing all right, Quill?" Clint asked.

"Low blow," Peter said, keeping his head tucked into his collar. "It's wrong. Screwed up. She was my _mom_. Geez."

Clint had to swallow against the lump in his throat. For the second time he considered looking for Edith Barton, but resisted the urge. Peter raised one of his hands and wiped something off of his face with his sleeve. Clint noticed the blood staining Peter's hands. He wondered if Quill killed her himself and that thought alone sent a shiver down his spine.

"_Milano's_ trashed." Quill said.

"We're stranded for a bit unless I can get Pym here. I don't have the number for Denali's place, do you?"

Quill shook his head. He adjusted on the ground, sliding his feet out in front of him instead of beneath. "Guess that's it for me, then."

That was a funny thing to say, Clint thought. He could feel the small pulse of adrenaline shoot through him and he leaned forward to see Quill a little better. What he found made his heart stop. Peter's lap was filled in a pool of his own blood. His left hand was pressed against his stomach in a fist, but did little to stop the stream steadily flooding out. Clint closed in and grabbed his shoulder in his hand.

"Why didn't you say something?!" Clint cried.

There was a snub-nosed .38 revolver resting between the Guardian's knees. It was still wrapped in his mother's hand. Pete collapsed sideways at Clint's touch and let the Avenger cradle him to the ground. "Sick trick. Stupid, sick, twisted, trick," Peter growled out.

"Loki, help me here!" Clint flipped his head up and shouted for the Frost Giant. Hearing the tone in his voice, Gamora left Drax to handle the bodies and came over as well. She hit her knees by Quill's head, leaving Quill's opposite side for Loki.

"Gunshot wound," Clint filled them in. He yanked Quill's shirt up to reveal the flowing wound beneath. It was a bad spot, Barton knew. If it didn't hit the Guardian's stomach, it most likely caught his spleen. Internal bleeding, external bleeding, all of them now became enemy number one. "Gamora, get the med kit."

Gamora sprang up again and took a few steps in the ship's direction before she pulled up short. "We don't have a medical kit." A pair of green and a pair of blue eyes simultaneously impaled her as both Barton and Loki attempted to digest that concept. She shrugged. "Sorry?"

Clint looked at the mischief maker. "Do something. Keep him breathing. I've got some supplies in my gear."

Loki set to the task and Gamora returned to him in an attempt to help. Clint ran across the open ground and climbed his way back into the _Milano's_ wreckage. Rocket and Groot were braced along the communications console. The hybrid raccoon worked a sea of wires out of the overhead compartment. He needed to reroute the power cells to the console. Something Clint was keenly aware of. One of his first missions with Stark had a situation shockingly similar to the one they were in now. Alone, stranded in a downed ship, with one passenger shot and their only rescue had no idea of their predicament. Back then, Tony plugged his ARC reactor into the ship and bled a little life to get them going again. The result almost killed him, but at the same time if saved Clint's life.

"Rocket, get those comms up. Quill's hit," Clint said, making his way by.

Rocket's head popped up from the panel "Quill? It bad?"

Clint didn't stop. "Yeah, it's bad. And you don't have med supplies." He climbed over some downed panels and traversed the slanted room to enter his bunk again. The ship shifted beneath him under the creaking metal of the second broken wing. Something snapped free and Clint grabbed the doorway to keep up right. The ship leveled out and soon settled.

Priorities kept shifting. Every time he thought he took a step toward something, he ended up four steps back again. Trying to fight this war was like swimming upstream. It came with that same sinking, choking feeling too. Peter needed their help. Clint needed to finish his mission and get his hands on the Infinity Gauntlet. If they were lucky, Galactus' Herald wouldn't be coming back to life before then.

Clint grabbed his old duffle out from beneath his bunk. The pack had followed him around since his SHIELD days. He rarely took things out of it without replacing them when a mission ended, ensuring that no matter where he went, he always had exactly what he needed. At least he was prepared. He yanked open the zipper and rooted around to dig up his mobile med kit. It wasn't much, but at least it could help. By the time he extracted the small pack and slung the strap over his shoulder, Groot was making his way into the cabin with Peter splayed out in his newly grown hands.

"Loki froze him or something." Gamora explained, resetting the conference table to set Quill on.

"Where'd he go?" Clint asked, setting his bag down beside Star Lord.

"The Herald."

"Still kicking?" Clint moved down Peter's side and checked the injury. He'd seen men gut shot before. Hell, he'd been the guy shot, and Pete got it good this time. Whatever Loki did helped stem the blood flow temporarily. "I've got this, you help him and Drax."

Gamora looked up. "I don't—Loki and me—"

"You got history, fine, I got that. But me doing something for Pete isn't going to mean jack if you don't prevent that thing from pummeling us again." Clint laid out his supplies. When she still didn't leave he raised his voice. "Look, I'm trying to keep a lot of moving parts in place right now and you aren't helping! Rocket's got to get those comms up and I need working technology and power cells to do that. Stop holding a grudge, kiss and make up, and go kick some Herald butt."

Gamora's eyes narrowed. Before she decided to leave, her hand made a swift trip across his face, sending the sound of her smack throughout the cabin.

Clint continued to give her a deadpan stare. "You done?"

She sneered again, might have even hissed like a cat, but took his advice and cleared out. Groot stood to the side with some trepidation, but at Clint's insistence he too went out to face the Herald again. They'd need help, guidance. Clint had to get Peter stable enough to leave him. Pete grabbed his hand, drawing Clint's attention.

"Sucks. Didn't think—Hawk, this looks bad."

"Shut it," Clint said. He tore open a few packs of bandages and pressed them against the hole.

Pete winced as the cotton hit skin. "Look, I thought . . . I thought I made the right choice. They might get—it. If I don't tell you."

Clint tore himself a strip of ace bandage with his teeth and forced it around Star-Lord's abdomen. "I said to shut it. Whatever you did because you were an idiot doesn't make any difference right now. We've got our own issues. Now if you somehow figured out a way to beat the tar out of a Galactus Herald and didn't tell me, then I would take that personal."

Pete shook his head again. He reached down into his jacket pocket and extracted the sphere. Clint knew what was hiding inside of it, the universe's most unstable Infinity Stone. He forced himself up and shoved it against Clint's chest. "Do—Don't hate me. Just wanted to do my part. The save Clint parade. Ya know?"

Clint looked down at the sphere and back at Stark. "Pete, what did you do?"

:(:):(:):

Natasha stared at the reflection in the mirror. She faced it at first, her eyes inevitably traveling downward as her hands circled were waist. Then she turned to the side, imagining the change she thought she should see. Rinon's thumping image, the beat of the war drums he called it, continue to echo in her distant mind. So did that strange voice in her head. _Mother_. Natasha wasn't a mother. She couldn't ever be one. That was one important thing that kept Clint and her separate for so long. It drove her into Steve's arms when Clint found happiness with his second wife. It kept her at a distance when Clint held his child in his arms. Like a wall that unhappy reality separated some part of her from him.

She tried to remember the words the Sarhorn told her that night on the _Gateway_. Rinon had the power to save Clint, if he chose to do it. That sacrifice most likely would come only at the expense of his own death. Would an Elf ever choose to shorten his own life for another? Especially someone that didn't even share his own species? Someone that Rinon was convinced would be dead no matter what he attempted? But there was more. By saving Natasha, Clint was saving himself. She always considered that to be a metaphore. As if she might go on to preserve his legacy, or help Kate Bishop to. What if the reality was much more tangible than that.

What if Clint had an heir?

She'd seen the Sarhorn do things she couldn't possibly explain. Healing Clint when all hoped was long lost, was only one of the steps to gaining her trust. Could he have changed her? Done something to her? If so, when? The last time she'd seen Clint was months ago, but maybe it wasn't too much time to . . . she didn't dare consider the idea that something living might be sharing a body with her, like a parasite infected a host. She shuddered at the possibility.

"Tasha, I know you're there and I'm coming in. I don't care that you locked the door."

Natasha hurriedly yanked her shirt back down and faced Tony as he barreled into her temporary stateroom on the Alfheimr flagship. She grabbed her knife off the nightstand and threw it across the room at him. It dropped by his feet and pinned his left boot to the floor a mere centimeter from his big toe. Tony's eyes narrowed.

"Seriously? Shoes don't grow on Alfheimr trees you know."

"Get out of my room," She growled.

"No," Tony replied, deadpan. He pulled the knife from his shoe and continued to approach. "Look, lady, I'm sick and tired of being the odd man out, here. I know you found Rinon. No one on my end's talking. I'm stuck on the most technologically advanced ship in the fleet and it's chuck full of elves that don't talk, an absentee leader, and my own teammate is avoiding me." He lifted a fist and slammed it down on her window sill. "Don't you guys get that I'm the one here trying to keep us together? I've got my entire team spread across six galaxies and the only one who wants to make us a team after this is me!"

That got her attention. Natasha took a step forward, her hackles raised for a fight. "Are you actually insane?! The fact is, Stark, the only reason any of us are out here risking our necks is because we do want it all to end! Things change. The team got old, that's what happens when you're human. There's other kids taking our slots. Kate Bishop, Scott Lang, it's only a matter of time before the next Iron Man comes rolling around and there's enough femme fatales out there for the world to just forget I ever came along. Earth doesn't care if we come back. The only ones we are fighting for is ourselves." She folded her arms. Emotional outbursts weren't typically her thing. Her conversation, that vision from Rinon, must have triggered a few repressed feelings. She stopped for a moment and collected herself again. She supposed Tony deserved some answers. "I did find Rinon. He's not just avoiding us, Tony, somethings actually wrong with him. He's sick and it gets worse the longer we're in the Nine Realms. It's some kind of Elven thing, I'm not really sure. He did tell me the reason we're heading to Earth. Tony, that's where the evacuation is going to happen."

She explained to him Rinon's fears but stopped short of discussing the details of Rinon's visions. Tony wanted to stay grounded in reality. Any more predictions from other races and he might just throw himself through a window. Revealing shades of truth was her super power.

"Earth." Tony whispered, shaking his head. "Why . . . Never mind. I know why. It's smart, strategic. The Kree know we're stuck in Vanaheim and Earth's pretty much undefended. If they take Svartalfheim it would give them even more of an advantage."

"They can't do that, though, as long as Alfheimr controls it. But then Rinon told me something a little worse. One of his technicians is missing. A young girl, by their standards, bright, intelligent, and working under Doodle. She disappeared at the same time as a considerable amount of their plans. One of which was the invisibility matrix which creates the Elven cloaking systems."

"So that's how the Kree got it?" Tony asked.

She nodded. "Stark, you know these men as much as I do. You know the only person with the MO of abducting girls like that is—"

"Thanos," Tony supplied.

She nodded.

"We all know he's involved. Maybe this is him showing his hand. If he took the girl, then he supplied the technology to the Kree. Means they're working together. The Shi-ar aren't for us, but they're staying out of it too. Maybe it's because they know about him pulling the strings. They don't want to be seen as his allies when this whole thing shakes out. This is an angle we can use. I'll get Xavier to chat with his friends in the empire again. Getting him to ask the right questions will probably get us the results we want at last."

The ship's gravity shifted forward as they felt her begin to decelerate. The spinning particles of light on either side of them which symbolized their light speed shed back along the aft of the ship and the looming presence of another world bobbed outside their window. That little planet dangling in the field of blackness held the most beautiful sight they'd seen in months. To think of her, invaded and destroyed by the Kree forces simply because they wanted to send a sucker punch into the fighting force's armada was a low they couldn't come to grips with.

"Kinda seems small now, doesn't it?" Natasha asked.

"I don't own the whole thing yet, so nope. It doesn't," Tony replied. "So Rinon expects to evacuate the entire population. Where is he going to bring them?"

"I think he was working that out with Nova Prime before we came here. He wanted someplace that could support life. They found a temporary home deep in the Xandar system and far from where Galactus should show up. Nova Luna."

"Sounds much less Earth-like."

"It's more of a moon," She admitted. "Apparently Quill used to scout it out as his crash pad years back so they know it supports human life. It's temporary."

The comm in Tony's pants pocket signaled him. He withdrew the device and accessed its clear screen to expand in a holographic array. Most likely it was just Reylano or Lirrie announcing they'd arrived. If he was lucky, it might be Logan or Linnor with good news about locating Bruce Banner. His curiosity both peaked and deflated when Hank Pym showed up instead.

"Hank, what are you doing?" Tony asked.

_"Sorry, but I got diverted from the primary mission. I figured you wanted to know what was going on,"_ Hank said. _"I just got a transmission from Hawk's team. They got hit hard by a Galactus Herald. Quill's shot. The ship's stranded. I'm about an hour out from them, so I've changed course to try and help."_

Tony and Natasha looked at each other. Evacuation of a planet. Hank Pym getting close to an Infinity Stone. This wasn't right. It was all happening too fast. They were supposed to have another six years. Nothing they'd prepared was ready!

"I think that's a bad idea, Hank." Tony said seriously. "Look, you might not have all the facts. Hang back until—"

_"Can't. They could only send one transmission. We need Clint, alive. I'm not letting anything happen to him. And he's not going to end up saving anyone if he's trapped somewhere. I'll keep you posted."_

"Hank!"

_"And don't worry, Stark, I'll stay away from any Infinity Stones. I am a scientist after all."_

:(:):(:):

"Got the message out, boss. Ant-boy will be here in twenty," Rocket said as Clint braced on the forward console. The archer's body was tense as he looked out over that coming battlefield. The Herald had changed shape again, multiplied. He wasn't playing their loves against their fears anymore. He was Failure. _Their_ failures.

Clint's dead wife, Marie, Gamora's adopted sister, the Enchantress, others he didn't know or recognize. Rocket understood why Clint might want to hesitate. He wasn't ready to walk into that field either.

"Quill?" Rocket asked.

"Did you know?" Clint asked him.

Rocket's ears pricked forward, twitching in distress. He held his gun a little tighter to his chest. "Know what?"

Barton continued to stare out over the battlefield. He was lost in some dark thought Rocket couldn't hope to grasp. "Quill found the Gauntlet seven months ago and hid it. That's how he got the Stone. He thought separating them and keeping as far from it as possible, then not telling anyone about it might save us. Save me. It was stupid of him. If this Herald kills us here, he gets the Time Stone, and that will lead him right to the others."

Now, Clint broke his focus to stare at Rocket. "I get how he wanted to help, how everyone is trying in their own way, but all of these stupid choices is exactly what's going to tear all of us apart. So I need to know, did this team help him?"

Rocket wanted to deny it with every bone in his body, but Clint had a way of turning those baby blues on anyone and making them crack. Which is precisely what he did. His chin bobbed slightly. "Ye – yeah, Clint. Yeah, we knew. We knew all of it. We just wanted to help."

Across from them, the visage of the Enchantress plucked Loki off of his feet, and sent the frost giant hurling through the open viewport of the ship. He splayed against the forward consoles, and looked up at Barton.

"Are you honestly allowing me to take the brunt of this attack alone?" He shouted angrily.

"I just wanted to see Amora kick your butt again," Clint joked. Loki sensed the lack of feeling in his jest. He could tell that something had happened, but they didn't have time for questioning. Clint had his answers.

He opened his hand, pulled an arrow against his bowstring, and leveled a shot on the Enchantress' left eye. He released it immediately and pulled out another. He hardly batted an eye at Marie Barton's return and subsequent demise.

Loki raised up on his arms, and watched Clint bathe the battlefield in arrows. The archer worked mercilessly from one foe to the next, sweeping the lines of them even as they began to duplicate. Half a minute later, Clint had worked through every arrow in his quiver. Not a man beside the Guardians was left standing. Loki often forgot just how good Barton was. Moments like this reminded him how fortunate he was to be on Clint's side. But then again, technically, he wasn't at all. Not with that old Enchantress brand on his flesh placed there by Thanos. Loki still had to figure out what in this galaxy he could promise the conqueror to dispel his debt. He didn't want to give up the Gauntlet itself. That was out of the question. The last time Thanos had it, three worlds were destroyed, and Loki nearly along with it. He knew Thanos wouldn't hesitate to destroy him and all of his network of informants first.

Loki pushed himself up into a sitting position. Clint walked past him to retrieve his arrows again. He held no feelings for the archer. Humans lived fickle, short lives, and Barton had more than once cheated a warrior's death. Killing him with elaren venom might have been the cruelest death Loki could conjure up, but it was also the most definitive one also. When Clint lived through that, Loki had the notion that no matter what he tried, Clint would never die from any causes beyond natural. Diagnosed with cancer, Loki considered that revenge a fitting end to the archer who had always been a pain in his side. The Sarhorns came along and ruined that.

If you cannot kill an enemy, join them, and find a way to destroy them that way. Loki lived his life by that notion. This time in Clint's confidence, though, put his ideas through a trial by fire. He wasn't necessarily apologetic for attempting to destroy Clint in the past, but he had changed his ideas about whether to help that process along. It was the greatest compliment he could give a human.

"If our foe continues to reassemble himself, how is it we hope to defeat him?" Drax asked, considering the bodies.

"Like I said the first time: burn it," Clint said despondently. Arrows retrieved, he headed back into the ship. He handed a couple of arrow heads to Rocket as he strode by. "Exploding tips."

Rocket took them, and reached out to grab Clint's pant leg and stop him. He could feel the dejection in the archer. They'd lied to him for a month. Took him on a wild goose chase through the Oore system. Worst of all, they'd wasted the precious time he had left. Drax and Gamora watched him return to the ship.

"What happened?" Gamora asked.

Rocket's ears drooped to the sides. He rattled the nitroglycerine arrow heads around in his palm as he trudged over to the pile of bodies Clint downed effortlessly. "Clint knows," He told them.

Gamora's head lifted in the archer's direction. Loki stood as if to follow him, but stopped with the sharp look sent in his direction. Clint wanted to be alone. She couldn't blame him.

Quill thought, and convinced all of them, that the best way to protect the universe from itself was to stow the Infinity Gauntlet away. How he planned to stall for seven years, none of his team knew. They weren't made for long term plans. The Guardians of the Galaxy just wanted to do their jobs; protect the galaxy at large, even if it was from itself.

The fighting force Steve formed, the World Council, all of them held the potential of betrayal. As long as the Gauntlet remained in Guardian hands, they assumed it would be safe. Until now, they had dodged all of the Herald's attempts to ferret them out. The time for running, hiding, and keeping secrets had passed.

For Clint's part, he tried to ignore their stares, their intent to reach out. Climbing back into the main cabin and seeing Quill unconscious and bleeding, brought on all the pain he'd been trying to suppress for so long.

Betrayed. Alone. Helpless.

His life held by a thin thread left in the hands of others. He had no decisions, no say, and no control over those things happening in his life. He didn't get the choice to wake up from his stroke. He was never asked whether or not he'd make that sacrifice play. He was expected to. That was his job. Let go of everything he cared about, and just let the world roll right on without him.

In frustration, he lashed out at the first thing he could get his hands on. The already broken display panel went careening across the cabin, shattering a stack of mismatched mugs in the kitchen. He screamed, slammed his fist against the wall, and felt absolutely nothing when the ship listed under his fury. All this time he was just chasing his own tail. Being kept busy, happy, contained. He was sick of being safe and having his life dictated for him.

This was it.

When he found the Infinity Gauntlet, no one was going to contain him. Not anymore.

* * *

BAHHHHHH! SO MUCH HAS HAPPENED! What's Clint going to do? What's going to happen?

Next time: Returning to earth, Loki's secrets

please review!


	25. Chapter 23

discordchick: Poor CLint just trying to survive. Now Natasha's caught up in the intrigue. what will happen now?!

amy. .9 I have officially finished part 2 and reeaaallllyyy need to start part 3, but part 4 is mostly done:)

Fury-Natalia: ohhhhhhhhh something specials gonna be happening!

TheKnuckleHead7: Awe, thank you so much for the review!

* * *

**I Can Hear the Drums  
**

Chapter 23

"Tony!" Pepper exclaimed, rushing out onto the landing platform to meet him. He caught her up in an embrace, tucking his chin into her neck as he breathed in the very scent of her. From the time he'd spent on and off Vanaheim, it seemed like years since they'd been together. According to Pepper, it had only been a few months.

Behind them, Rinon and his Elves exited the small star streamer and glided over with Natasha on their heels. He inclined his head slightly to General Trask, who'd been sent from the United Nations to greet the otherworldly fleet commander. Trask extended his hand, but it was Lirrie who shook it.

"I'm not sure how you prefer to be referred to, sir," Trask said, retracting his hand to fold them at his back.

"Rinon is the commander of the elven armies and admiral to their fleets," Natasha said, standing across from them. "They call him Le'lareme."

"Le'lareme, my name is General Trask. I represent the United States of America, home operations for the Avengers team. I'm here as an emissary of the United Nations, our collective body of countries, or regions. I'm told you aren't much familiar with our customs, and I've had considerable experience with previous off-world diplomats. I hope to make your stay comfortable."

Rinon inclined his head a second time, but Reylano spoke for him. "We accept this introduction, but we cannot stay. A great danger, we fear, is approaching and we must take immediate measures to counteract it."

Trask's eyes dilated. He sent an inquisitive look toward Stark, hoping for better answers than that.

Tony pulled away from Pepper. "He's right. We've sent two ships ahead of us already to scope out the area. I've been tracking the Hulk. He went AWOL after a surprise attack by the Kree. They're using foreign technology to cloak their ships, but I've found a way to hack around that."

"You're saying these Kree ships are planning to attack us?" Trask asked.

Tony's jaw set. "I'm saying they're already here, and a hell of a lot more are on their way."

Trask looked up at the elven admiral. "And you're here to defend us?"

Rinon shook his head slowly. "No. I am here to remove you."

The news fell like a blow from Thor's hammer. When they'd discussed the realities of their predicament on the _Voiya Rose_, a thousand questions came up all at once. How on the planet were they expecting to evacuate all of life on Earth? This wasn't Noah's ark. They couldn't just abduct everyone against their will, and expect them to sit on their hands on a moon in the Xandarian system for no reason at all. There were entire countries, continents, who would rather fight and die, rather than abandon the hunk of rock and soil they claimed was their birthright. They'd been fighting for thousands of years already. What possible difference would it make now? Somehow, evacuation was exactly what they needed. Somehow, Tony Stark, the Black Widow, and a race of light elves had to stand in front of a podium and convince the human race that the best way to escape the death to come was to leave everything they loved behind. It was a tough pill to swallow, but in a war like the one that the Kree declared, it was a necessary step to take. The only thing Tony could hope to do, was keep Clint Barton as far away from Earth and Nova Luna as possible.

The Kree warships were amassing just as Rinon thought. An entire line of them, hundreds of thousand strong, were back-building like a firestorm on the very edge of Midgardian airspace. Rinon's forces might be able to overpower them. He certainly could match their numbers with only half of his own fleet, but the result was always the same: Earth's complete and utter annihilation. Anyone left on that soil was going to be scorched in the battle to come. The lines had been drawn.

To destroy the back bone of the fighting force, the Kree warriors were prepared to destroy the very home of their adversaries. Scorched earth. Nothing left to return to. If there was one thing that was for certain about their empire, it was their utter devotion to efficiency. Rinon would stop them, but at what cost? Their best, and their only, option was evacuation.

Natasha sent a private sign toward Tony. She had this. He needed to get moving. Tony signed back, took Pepper's arm, and headed into the upper room of Stark Tower with her. He spoke quickly as he moved.

"Pepper, I don't have a lot of time to explain. Something really bad is coming, and we need to get everyone out of here. There is no defending, no avenging, it's survival. Tell me how much stores you've saved up with the Genesis Edict." Tony accessed the panel for his private elevator, and punched in his Tower code. The plans Bruce used to track the Tesseract were somewhere in their lab's data drives. He just had to go down and access them.

"Tony you're scaring me!" Pepper exclaimed. "What's happened? You show up out of the blue, and you just expect me to – "

Tony grabbed her shoulders in his hands a bit too forcefully. She could feel the tremor shake right through him as his dark eyes bore right into hers. "Pepper, please! You didn't just see what I saw up there waiting for us! We don't have time._ I_ don't have time! I'm trying to do everything I can to keep you safe. How much food is there?"

Pepper caught her breath in her throat, folding under the pressure of the wildness in him. Finally, her voice seemed to make its way out. "We—Tony, there aren't any stores on the ground. I was told it might be better to move them. Somewhere no one could reach them."

The elevator door came open with a chime, but Tony ignored it. "If they aren't on the planet, then where are they?"

"Reed Richards helped make them. We converted the satellites, took away everyone's off-world capabilities so no one could plunder the food stores. The Genesis Edict is in space."

Tony let her go. Enough food to feed the human race for the next seven years, and all of it was orbiting the globe. It was the smartest thing he'd ever heard. He moved into the elevator again and, with a slight hesitation, Pepper followed after. They rode the car downward toward the lab in silence as Tony considered the theorems in his mind. The Mars portal had to be extended. One word to the World Council set that into motion instantly. Loki had built a failsafe into the models just in case they needed to fit something larger than a Blackbird through. The dwarvish technicians had the ability to enlarge it by a hundred fold, enough for even the _Voiya Rose_ herself to squeeze through. On the other side of the galaxy, Xandar was performing the same feat. Once Earth was evacuated, the fleet would be sent through the portal and directly to Nova Luna. Already, the outlying moon was being fitted with supplies to house the incoming race. Tony had to get ahold of Clint. He needed to warn the archer to stay out of Xandarian airspace. Just in case for some reason this was the beginning of the events to come.

"Tony?" Pepper asked, daring to touch him.

Tony shook out of the confines of his mind to look up. "I'm sorry," he said instantly. "Pepper, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that. It's just..." He opened his mouth to finish his thought, but nothing emerged. Some part of him needed to tell her the truth. Explain why his actions were frantic and hurried. He was at a complete loss.

She knew that look. The one which meant he was beginning to feel the walls closing in on him. That he was being backed into a corner without an escape route. Forgiving his outburst, she pulled herself against him again and felt the strength of his arms tightened around her.

"I love you. I trust you. Tony, if you say we need to go, I know that we do. I'll follow you. There's something I should tell you first, about the project." She pulled back a little to see into his face. "I've been storing up more than just food and necessities. It's our culture up there. Human beings. Who we are, what we are. I didn't think we'd ever need it, but just in case, it's all there. Your private data banks on heroes too."

The door opened to Tony's shared lab and he headed to Bruce's desk. Pepper's admission made part of him want to laugh. "Pepper, the only things I have in those data banks are all the samples Pym's collected over the years on his old mutant registration work. If you're worried about the data falling in the wrong hands, don't." He accessed the holographic table and instantly began sorting files. He forced a smile to try and put her at ease. "Seriously. I think they even have my sperm. It was a generous donation for science."

She looked over the information as he sorted it. "What are you looking for?"

"Things are going too quick. I don't know what's wrong. We need a way to get our hands on the Infinity Gauntlet, fast, before Galactus' Heralds do. Clint already ran into trouble with one of them. We tracked the Tesseract once with the power from the Mind Stone Loki's staff emitted. Clint has his hands on the Time Stone. If I can find our original data sets, I can reverse-engineer the process and repeat it. The Gauntlet might be easier to find, as it should be shooting out a greater frequency than just the Tesseract alone, but we still have six systems to cover. I'm not sure how much it can help, but I've got to try something."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked.

"Pack. The minute I download this data, I'm getting you onto Rinon's ship and we're getting out of here."

:(:):(:):

Loki spied around the corner of the corridor, and analyzed the room before daring to enter in. If Barton wanted his space, he was prepared to give it to him. However, with Hank Pym's ship finally dipping through the atmosphere, it was about time for them to start moving. Clint stood across from him with his back facing the doorway. His hands splayed on the table Peter rested on while the injured man lay unconscious. A trail of blood leaked off the side of the table, and made a slow drip, drip, drip to the floor of the still off-kilter ship.

"Get out," Clint growled. His fingers separating, whitening. His shoulders tensed like an alley cat ready for war with a Rottweiler.

"I may prefer to, but I have come into this brooding hall of yours to say the indolent insect man has arrived," Loki replied. He gathered himself a little, formed the mask of indifference on his face, and strode inside. The very air had the feel of Barton's tension. Walking into it was like entering a field of lightning bolts. It was no wonder the other Guardians, despite their love for the wayward leader, chose to remain outside. None of them had a medical base. Barton was their best, and only, choice to keep Peter alive until help came.

"I'm serious, Loki, you don't want to do this with me right now." Barton sneered. Loki rounded the table to face him, and the Frost Giant felt a small influx of fear at the sight, though he hid it well.

"I see this fit of yours is not based solely on the potential for this man's demise," he said.

Clint's hand formed a fist, which lifted and slammed down into the table like a mallet. Loki jumped at the surprise. "If Pete wasn't at death's door right now, he would have never told me where the Gauntlet was. They would have just kept stringing me along out here. Keeping me busy, out of the way, and wasting my time! You have no concept of that, so don't you dare come in here and say that you do."

Loki opened his mouth, perhaps to calm him down, but the look of disinterest on his face only further fueled Clint's outrage.

"And let's not get started on you. You think I'm an idiot, I get that. Anyone who isn't you isn't worth more than what you can get out of them. You never helped save me on Alfheimr. You wanted me dead. Dead for what I did to you. For embarrassing you, imprisoning you. For knowing those secrets you always try to hide." Clint straightened, rounding the desk to close in on the Frost Giant.

Loki stood his ground. He was over a head taller than the Avenger.

"So what if I know that your heart isn't as black as you want everyone to think? That you loved someone once, and wont admit it to yourself. That she's standing right out there, and you wont do anything about it. And what about the dreams?"

Shocked, reeling for something to say, Loki's face flushed blue and he scrambled. "Dreams? What possible dreams?"

"The ones that keep you screaming into your arm at night, and clawing the floor to try and escape."

"I don't know what you – "

"Stop lying for once!" Clint shouted.

Something on their left crashed. Both of the fighting men looked over to see Hank Pym struggling over the debris to get inside. He smiled at them, his greying hair swept in a wind-tossed twirl. "Everyone can relax, the cavalry has arrived."

Clint took a final, poisonous look at the Frost Giant before shoving through him to come around the table. He grabbed his mission pack and the remainder of his gathered gear. "Pete's on one hit of morphine, dose written on his forehead. I started an IV and bandaged the wound. Groot and Drax will lift him out of the table to keep him steady. He's had one liter of fluids already."

Pym tried to keep up with the hurriedly spilled instructions as he watched Clint head for the new Milano exit. "Hey, where are you going?"

Clint didn't bother to turn around as he said, "I'm plotting our new course."

Sure, he cared about Peter's survival. The top of his priority list began with that exact notion, but Pym could handle his care from here. He needed to contact Stark or the _Gateway_, and update them on the strange series of events. The closest system he knew of with patient care was, unsurprisingly, Cross Lake. It would serve two purposes to get there as fast as he could. Pete would get the help he needed to survive, and Clint would have another ship to take off in alone.

No more teams. No more help. No more relying on others.

He was going old-school SHIELD operative. And he was finding the Infinity Gauntlet, and stashing it, alone.

The other Guardians moved aside as he stalked by. The remains of Galactus' Herald were smoldering in a distant fire, managed by Drax. Clint left his instructions for getting Quill moving with Rocket before he disappeared up the hatch of Pym's ship.

He'd brought one of the newly designed fighters. It wasn't a retrofitted Blackbird or quinjet. This had all of Alfheimr's sleek elegance and the infusion of dwarvish masons. She had more rooms than a hatch and a forward cabin to pilot from, which was better given the expanded company about to invade it.

Clint breezed through the polished metal bulkhead, and managed to slip into the cabin. He accessed the door panel, slid it shut, and looked around for the communications console. Tony decided to keep the ships as unidimensional as possible, so a single pilot might be at ease no matter what he decided to take into the sky. That decision helped not only stretch their forces, it also gave Clint a bit of an edge when it came to handling the systems of any ship he came across made by Midgardian specifications. The communications panel was exactly where he hoped, and after accessing it, the JARVIS adapted interface hovered before him.

There was a scuttle in the back of the ship while Groot and Drax managed to lift Quill inside. Clint watched through the small porthole style window. The Guardian had lost consciousness almost twenty minutes ago. While the external blood loss was minimal, Clint was more worried about what the bullet had done internally. Gut shots were notoriously deadly.

His communications console flashed with a typed message from the Gateway. Stark wasn't back yet. Apparently he'd taken off to Earth for his research on the Tesseract tracker. Clint considered whether or not he would resort to speaking with Steve instead, but in the end decided against it.

He shut down the _Gateway_ ship-to-ship and typed in a new redirect address for Stark's lab. The system took a while to process the new data. He never knew exactly how the system worked, or how he could literally pick up the phone and talk to anyone across any expanse, without waiting for more than ten minutes to get a reply. That was the realm of scientific geniuses of which he did not consider himself a part. There was more movement in the back, and Clint noticed them loading a few of the _Milano's_ supplies. It was almost time to get underway.

While the JARVIS interface tried to triangulate him a signal, Clint extracted the sphere from his pocket, and rested it on the navigation panel. All this time, he'd trusted Peter to know which way the Infinity Stone was guiding him, never assuming that Star Lord was in fact leading them farther and farther away from the source rather than closer to it.

Clint accessed the system map, and zoomed in on his small part of the galaxy. They'd been sweeping the area for almost a month already. A hundred planets, a thousand moons, all yielding no results. Maybe they had buzzed by Peter's buried treasure, and he simply declined to say it.

It was also possible that, in the nine months Quill already spent on the "hunt" for the Gauntlet, he'd stowed it someplace that might take Clint just as long to find again. It was a needle in a haystack the size of the universe. His best chance to find it, his only chance, was to get the location straight out of the Guardians. That would have to wait. Currently, Peter needed care. The easiest place to get that, was still Cross Lake.

Clint fed the information into his navigation console and plotted the course out. Pym's ship was faster than the quinjet or _Milano_. Most likely Rinon's technicians had a hand in that. It would still take them six hours, at the most, to reach the outpost.

"Cl—chhhssss… Clisshhhhhh… Clint?"

He typed in a few more keys and set the computer to run the navigation mock up before cruising back to the communication panel. He adjusted a few knobs, and tried to bring the Midgardian world into focus. Tony's face appeared on a backdrop of blue displays highlighting Bruce's old research. Seeing Clint, he seemed to relax.

"Clint, can you hear me ok?"

"You're a little grainy, but yeah. There might be a planet imploding between us setting off some interference," Clint joked. He sank back into his chair, and rubbed his face with his hand. His body decided that working on little sleep, being choked a few times, and falling out of a crashing ship might have been too much for one day.

"You look like you need coffee with a shot of bourbon," Tony remarked, sighing.

Clint chuckled. "No drinking. We talked about that."

"I might have broken that. I'm lying. I did, twice. I'll be honest, I feel slightly guilty."

"Cheater."

"Yeah, well, punch me for it when you see me next." Tony leaned into the screen so he could see Clint's room a little better. Apparently, he wasn't on the _Milano_ any more, as he recognized the newer model ship. "Pym showed?"

They shared a private look. "Yeah. I know what you're thinking, Tony, I do. If someone else was out here, I would have asked for them instead. I'll try and keep him and the Infinity Stone as far away from each other as possible. Pete's in it bad. We found one of the Heralds. I don't think he's dead, but he's down for now." Clint waited for Tony to say something, but was surprised to see him rather distracted. His attention was fixed on someone in the distance.

"Tell Lirrie to scoop up the Genesis satellites and store them on Logan's ship. We're bringing them with us. All of them, yeah. I don't care how long it takes, and no, General Trask isn't getting more time. We're leaving in thirty six hours." Tony waved his hand, banishing whoever it was away. He returned to Clint with a slightly more panicked expression.

At Clint's back, the cabin door open slightly. Loki poked his head inside, as if testing to see whether or not Clint might decide to throw him out. Barton considered him for a moment, but said nothing. It was all the invitation he would afford. A few moments later, Pym slipped in also.

Tony noted the extra people. "It's starting here already. Earth, I mean. The Kree changed tactics, they can't touch the fleet now that it's in the air, not with the light elves backing us, so they're scorching the place. The invasion started about three hours after our first ship hit the ground. Dubai, Tokyo, San Francisco, and Wakonda have already been targeted. We're trying to fend them off, but they've swarmed us. They aren't attacking our ships, Clint, they're poisoning the air. Everything human on this planet is going to be dead by the time the wave spreads in three days."

Shock did strange things to a man. Some, it froze in place. Others, it triggered anger or disgust. Still more were driven insane by it. Clint had already resigned himself to a war that would destroy lives and uproot entire civilizations. He felt only numbness.

"What are you going to do?" He whispered.

"I'm clearing out. There are planet-wide evacuations in place now. Rinon's managing it personally. Pepper has the entire Genesis Edict in the air already. Apparently, our favorite Sarhorn paid her a visit and made the suggestion. It's a good thing she did."

Pym lowered down into the chair beside Clint. The entire planet. Earth itself, gone forever. All life completely erased. It was unfathomable. "To—Tony . . . Where are they going? How are we going to survive?"

Tony struggled not to stare at Loki when he answered. "Don't worry about that. Get Pete help, then send Pym back to Vanaheim."

"Got it," Clint said. "Tony, be careful. Don't stay longer than you have to. I don't want to face what's still coming without knowing you're watching my back."

Tony didn't smile, not like he normally might. He made a few curt signs to Clint, which Barton responded to, and the two of them said their traditional good-byes. In the silence of the ended transmission, everyone wondered just what might become of them. They were a race without a home, fighting a war they could never win, hinging all their faith on something they could neither see, touch, or feel. The Kree hadn't just taken away their security, they were trying to destroy the very heart of their opponents.

"It will take all of the Alheimr armada to remove the population of Midgard." Loki commented.

Clint agreed.

"If it is not destroyed when the World Eater comes, will Man hope to return there?"

"I don't know," Clint said. He shook his head a familiar weight on his back began to increase exponentially. Like a pallet of bricks, it thudded down among all the other fears and concerns he currently harbored there. He couldn't sit there and brood about his problems while Peter lay dying in the room next door. They had to get moving.

Loki fell seamlessly into his rehearsed role as Barton's navigator, while Pym contemplated the reality laying before them. After a while, it was all too much, and he got up to check on Peter instead, leaving Clint and Loki to themselves.

If the Frost Giant considered making conversation or to smooth over their fight, Clint didn't know it. He retreated into his own mind, and tried to formulate a mental list of exactly the things that his team was screwing up. They were playing right into Galactus' hand. The Twenty Predictions seemed to be coming true.

T'Challa would have a choice: save the woman that is his wife, or save Clint. They were planning to avoid that decision completely by separating T'Challa and her by forty-three systems at the very least. He was on one of those elven ships right now, helping to evacuate the planet.

Pym's childlike manipulation of an Infinity Stone created the catalyst for all the events to arise. Right now, Hank was sitting on a ship with free access to an Infinity Stone whether he knew it was there or not.

The mission was mismanaged at best, and a betrayal by his closest friend would be the last sight Clint would ever see. He was surrounded by friends, and mismanaged was the best word outside of cursing to describe what the Guardians of the Galaxy tried so desperately to accomplish.

A war would come to encompass every system, trillions of souls, and nearly all heroes. Friends and innocents die, planetary evacuations run rampant and Clint would find himself there. The evacuation fails, the only saving grace is a single perfect shot. Clint knows it means he will die, but he will make that sacrifice. Clint could have never imagined that threat would be home grown. The Kree invasion of his own planet.

Choice drives the events. Everyone's faced with their choices again. So far, everyone was playing their parts to the letter. But something in it all just didn't add up. Clint knew they had seven years. It had only been fourteen months. Why was everything moving so fast?

Then it hit him.

Manipulation. Changing. Choices.

He reached into his pocket and extracted the metal orb Peter had given to him.

The Time Stone.

* * *

Uh oh! What does this mean? Has Peter done something to manipulate time? Will Earth be destroyed? OMG TONY!

Next time: The Fallout, Thanos, and Loki repays his debt.

please review!


	26. Chapter 24

Thank you so much my faithful reviewers! I'm going to possibly post until the END of chapter 3 tonight!

* * *

**I Can Hear the Drums  
**

Chapter 24

Loki didn't realize he'd fallen to sleep until he was already kneeling at the base of Thanos' throne. Like a vortex of space and time, the world he'd left fell around him in shards of shattered glass. He had been in Pym's ship, resting his head against the seat's back of the cockpit with Clint silently piloting them closer to Cross Lake. Pym came and went. He was more content to pace between Quill's side and the cockpit, than to stay in one position for very long. Gamora abandoned the role of sick nurse and came to sit by Loki's side. He could sense her wanting to speak, though no one did.

Then his eyes fell shut. He must have been exhausted. Certainly the heavy weight of a battle fought and barely won, of just escaping a crash with his life and limbs intact, were not lost on him. He hadn't slept, properly slept, for longer than he knew. Thanos waited for him on the other side of his consciousness, and that was not a being Loki wished to interact with. Not when he still had nothing to show for his work. His body, apparently, disagreed.

Thanos towered over him. In the waking nightmare, he'd grown nearly as large as his Chitauri dragons. In this place, there was no restraints on the conjuring of his hand. He could be whatever he liked. Torture the frost giant as long as he wished, and when he decided to let Loki return to his exhausted body, he had only to wait until Loki slept again to repeat the process. The Enchantress was a sadistic, powerful woman. Leaving her talents to an equally sociopathic dictator ensured that, until he managed to break his debt, there would be no rest for him ever again.

The beatings lasted hours. They were drawn out in ways only Thanos could manipulate. If Loki thought he could take no more, that he would die in his dreams and never return to the land of the living, Thanos would manipulate his mental prison and revive the frost giant. The broken spine, fixed. The disemboweled stomach, replaced. His heart forcibly ripped out of his chest by those clawed hands, released. Each moment, he was tortured in a new and horrendous way, but the questioning never ceased.

How could Thanos destroy the Midgardains? They were evacuating the planet, where were they going? Who was helping them? How could he defeat Rinon's forces? What could the Chitauri do to once and for all decimate the elven armada? Brute force would never work, they'd tried time and time again. Stealth was useless. The elves could pick out their ships in an instant and rend them apart. Thanos needed a new edge. An angle he hadn't worked. All of his agents couldn't find a single hole in that fleet, but he knew Loki could. Desperation made the frost giant cruel. It was that ruthlessness that Thanos needed.

"Where is his weakness? Where is Rinon's breaking point?"

"I don't know." Loki reiterated. It was his mantra. He knew nothing. Could tell nothing. What more did Thanos want from him that he hadn't already taken?

"They made a base on Svartalfheim. Did you know that?"

"I didn't know."

They mean to break us. He wants to control the worlds when this war ends. I want him to be crushed. How do I get him?"

"I don't know."

"How do we stop him!?"

"I don't know."

Thanos' massive hand wound up, back, and came slamming down. In flattened Loki's body against the sharp rock ground. Breathless, pinned, Loki panicked to get free. He wanted his dagger, but had none. He wanted to escape, but was trapped. He screamed into the depths of his heart for someone in the waking land to save him, but there was no one. He was alone.

None of this would have happened if Loki had destroyed Alfheimr when he had the chance. Rinon wouldn't have amassed his Armada, and Thanos would have no reason to demand a way to destroy him. Why should Thanos waste his time on Midgard? They were only a threat because of the allies they had made. It was a ridiculous notion to destroy that world. Alfheimr was their enemy. It was their greatest enemy, now. Without them, Midgard, Xandar, Asgard . . . they had no defenses. Alfheimr was their target.

Oxygen flooded into his lungs again as Thanos' hand retracted into a fist. He felt the blood streaming down his face, and the hitch of half a dozen destroyed ribs cutting into his lungs. Loki forced his eyes open. Streams of red stung into his eyes from the cuts above them.

"Alfheimr." Thanos said, as if he had heard Loki's thoughts.

The frost giant forced himself up, stifling the scream from his injuries. "My debt," he panted, staring the monster down. "Dispel it. If I tell you how to destroy them, then I am free." He struggled to pull the leather strap off of his palm, and displayed the brand there.

Thanos walked toward him. With each step, he shrank smaller and smaller until he was his normal size again. He folded his arms. "Why should I agree to such terms, frost giant? You hold no power in this place. I will never allow you to leave. Soon, you will be begging to tell me."

Loki extended his hand. There was no way to stop Thanos, not in this place, but Loki had talked himself out of tighter corners before. He wasn't called Silver Tongue for nothing.

"Every moment you are here, your opportunity slips away. You have one thing against you that they do not; time. The elves may bide all the time they wish. They will fight these little wars, and win each and every one of them. Unless you do as I suggest, they will eventually tire of these games, and search you out to remove the Kree and Chitauri equation completely. They possess the ability to decimate you. That, I do know."

Thanos remained completely impassive, but Loki knew his words were having an impact on him. "Then tell me what it is you suggest."

Loki shook his extended hand. The purple brand was still in place. "Your word, first. My assistance discharges me of this nether world you have cursed me to."

An eternity passed while Loki waited for Thanos to decide. The tyrant strode closer. He squatted in front of Loki's battered body. "You may be dispelled from this agreement, Loki, if you tell me how to destroy these elves. But believe me when I say, the next time we meet, I will take great pleasure in removing every muscle from your bones. And I will begin my carving with your eyes."

:(:):(:):

Clint spent the majority of the trip back to Cross Lake at the helm. He trusted the automated navigation system, but with Pym able to take over as field surgeon, Barton wanted something, anything, to keep his hands busy. Piloting was natural to him. Manual controls required his undivided attention. His mind couldn't wander. He had no capacity to focus on those events he dearly wanted to scream over. There was simply nothing but piloting.

Beside him, Loki managed to remain upright for four hours. His body gave out on him the way Clint's tried desperately to. He slept soundly. Technically, there was nothing for him to do. The computer system long ago took his role away from him. A few attempts, and fails, at conversation kept his mouth closed. Clint didn't want to discuss anything more than what it was Loki kept from him. If that wasn't on the frost giant's agenda, then it wasn't worth talking about. Loki assumed Barton might soften as the journey progressed and the hours stretched by, but if anything, the human became more determined to stew in his anger.

Clint glanced over at the navigator. They only had another hour to go, and Loki still hadn't stirred from his catnap. Gamora sat, equally quiet, by the communication console with her feet propped up on the arm of Loki's chair. She watched him breathe steadily, her face unreadable.

"How's Quill?" Clint asked unexpectedly.

Gamora stirred from her inner thoughts to look up. "What?"

"Pete? The guy, your boss, shot in the back of this bird. Is he all right?" Clint clarified.

Gamora sat forward and dropped her feet down to the bulkhead. She rubbed a hand along the back of her green neck, working the tight muscles there. "He has yet to wake. The insect man is scared. He is trying not to show it."

"Rizzo will know someone to help him. Cross Lake sees plenty of cut throats passing through. There's no other system within an earshot of this place which can help as much as Rizzo can."

Clint meant for his assurance to hold some weight. It didn't. He might be madder than a kicked hornet's nest at Quill, but that didn't mean he wanted his friend to die. He owed the Guardians his life. They'd been the ones to pilot Natasha around the farthest stretches of the universe in pursuit of the Sarhorns to cure his cancer. In a way, Clint owed all of them his life. They only wanted the best for him. Even if that meant lying to him for almost a year about their mission to find the Infinity Gauntlet.

"Sorry I lost it back there." Clint told her.

He reached over the sleeping Loki and flipped a few switches on the navigation board. They brought up a holographic interface, which he pulled over to his side of the front screen. He swept his hand up, flowing the dial for auto pilot. The hologram collapsed, and he pushed his chair back from the receding yoke.

"I know all of you are trying to help, I do know that. But you've got to start looking at this from my side too. My life isn't mine anymore. I belong to those billions of people out there I don't know, who are relying on me to do something horrible. Imagine if I asked you to save Groot. But to do that, you had to let some guy cut you into a thousand little pieces first. How would you feel?"

"I'm not angry at you, if that's what you think," she admitted, folding her arms. He face softened a little. "But I do know what you refer to. And I don't know what I would do."

"I don't know what you see in him." Clint whispered.

He thought she would deny the allegation left hanging in the air. He knew of Loki's unrealized affinity for the woman, but he knew nothing of Gamora's feelings. He imagined something lay dormant there. Killed forever, perhaps, given their mutual past. The way they fought reminded him of Natasha and him during their worst days. Surprisingly enough, she didn't try rebuffing him.

"He was kind," he said softly. The door to the back cabin, where Groot, Drax, Pym, and the wounded Peter resided, was still open. "No one was ever kind to me. I know he was desperate, we both were. I wanted to be free from Thanos, and he gave me that choice when no one else could. It wasn't real. He simply wooed me the way he might sway a Chitauri army to follow him. But for a time, I thought I was happy. I _was_ happy."

Loki went on sleeping, oblivious to their conversation to either side of him. Clint smiled a little at that. He'd never known the frost giant to sleep so openly in front of others. He didn't like to be vulnerable, and sleeping was a part of that. Flanked by the two people he somewhat liked, if such a word could ever be used, his defenses lowered.

"He did care about you," Clint whispered. "I've been in that head of his. I'd know."

She considered that for a while, but said nothing.

"I just need a little honesty from my friends, right now. I'm serious when I say that's all I want." Clint took the orb off the dash and held it between his hands. "Pete knows where the Gauntlet is. It's deadly to have it out there, and this with us here."

He tapped the edge of the sphere and it clam-shelled open to reveal the Stone. "If the Herald got this from us, he wouldn't need anything else in his arsenal to find the rest. This would lead him right to it. It's been getting brighter the closer we come to Cross Lake. Gamora, tell me the truth. The Gauntlet is there, isn't it?"

Gamora's faraway expression didn't change. She was back to those memories she shared with Loki. They'd been together for almost half a year. It hardly seemed like that long, at the time. He changed so many thoughts in her. Affected so many parts of her life. Clint's question wasn't completely lost on her for, after a time, she did answer.

"Yes."

A flicker of hope burned in Clint's chest again. Finally, progress.

"The Red Light district?"

Very slowly, her head bobbed.

Peter's girl. The one he kept visiting. She must know where Quill hid it, or he paid her to keep it for him. That's why Denali saw him so often. That's why he spent so much time there. Things were finally falling into place.

In retrospect, the location made perfect sense. Peter liked to hide in the open, like a Where's Waldo drawing. The last place anyone would expect to find the Infinity Gauntlet, would be right on Galactus' doorstep. Half of those galaxies were in the process of evacuating their systems to distant worlds to escape his future approach. By the fourth year, the fighting force hoped to have a complete ten-system radius of empty planets around the black hole. If they couldn't stop him outright, at least no one population would be killed in the process. While people were running in the opposite direction, Quill was going in, babysitting the Gauntlet.

"What are you going to do when you get it?" she asked.

"Take it. Hide it. Somewhere only I know of." He balanced the Infinity Stone's casing in his hand. "I'll put the stones back together so no one else can track it, and have Tony destroy his old data. When I take it, no one's going with me. I need to do that alone."

"We only meant the best," she said, hoping he could believe her.

Clint intended to answer, but the form beside him shifted very suddenly. Loki awoke with an unrestrained scream. He pulled his hand to his chest and curled forward around it, trying desperately to cool its unrelenting fire. He screamed again. Shocked, Clint lunged out of his seat and tried to grab him, but Loki yanked free. He hit the cabin floor and spasmed. Gamora cried out for him. In his agony, he could not answer. Just above him, the bulkhead door pushed fully open, and Drax forced himself inside.

Clint dropped to his knees by Gamora and Loki. She'd dragged the shaking frost giant into her lap. Loki seized in her hands.

"What happened?!" Drax demanded.

"I don't know! I don't know, he was sleeping! I don't understand!" She exclaimed, clutching him against her.

"Loki, let me see," Clint said, trying to pull Loki's hands free. He had the right one stuffed against his flesh, as if to stem the flow of blood from some hidden wound. Clint's mind reeled with possibilities. Was this some residual effect from the Herald toying with their minds and emotions? Was this something new?

"I'm trying to help you, so stop fighting me! I need to see your hand, Loki."

"Burns!" Loki cried, trying to keep his hand pulled tightly against his body. Barton knew exactly what the circular brand meant. He couldn't be fooled like some of the other Guardians could have. Clint fought him for it. The leather hand strap came free, and Barton was able to inspect the raw flesh beneath. At first, he thought Loki had been injured after all. He might have been hiding it since they left that abandoned moon and the _Milano_ wreckage behind. The mark was a smoldering circle of healing, pale flesh. Clint wondered what could have done it.

"Hang on and let me help you!" He growled against the frost giant's determination to free himself. Gamora held his back against her chest, stroking her hand through his hair to try and stop his frantic breathing. His body screamed against hers with the phantom pain of being tortured at Thanos' bidding. The tell-tale purple brand continued to sizzle as its color burned away. Within seconds, it vanished completely.

Loki watched Clint's face for the flash of recognition. Clint would remember. It might have been more than a decade since the Enchantress branded him, but no one simply forgot their servitude to the witch. Loki was more terrified of that coming storm now, than he had been of Thanos himself.

Then it happened. Loki watched that mask of horror fall as the memory triggered in Clint's aging mind.

"No!" he tried to say. _Don't remember. Don't think that of me. I had no choice. No options. I had to give him everything. It wasn't my fault._

Clint retracted from the frost giant as if he'd been physically shoved away. The Avenger scrambled back until he hit the bottom of the closest chair with his back. His pupils were as large as saucers.

Loki tried to catch his breath through the wave of residual pain from his time in that mental prison. He had to say something, cover up what was now so glaringly obvious. He pushed himself up in Gamora's grasp, but she supported him still. His body shook uncontrollably.

"It-it is not what you perceive it to be." he tried to lie.

Clint wasn't biting. "Don't you dare try that with me! Not for one minute! I'm not an idiot, I know that brand. I know it because I had it, Loki!" Clint was shaking too. The Enchantress was the only person he'd ever encountered in his life who still had the same power over his mind that a boogeyman might for a five year old. She terrified him.

"It – "

"What did you promise her?!" Clint snarled. He could see the mark was completely gone, burned away like a laser removal on a tattoo. He knew what that meant. Loki fulfilled her one request.

"Barton, please!"

"What did you give her!?" Clint continued, refusing to listen.

Loki might have said anything. Where the Avengers were, the location of the Infinity Stone, the weakness of the Guardians, the plans for Tony's hidden ship to destroy Galactus. Anything the frost giant was privy to, she may have demanded from him, and there was nothing Loki could do to refuse her request. He was her puppet on a string, the way Clint had once been. At her request, Clint nearly killed both Thor and Odin Allfather. Only clever trickery in the end saved their lives.

"It was all I could think of. He would not dispel my debt without the Infinity Gauntlet, and that, I refused to give him," Loki tried to defend himself.

"What is he speaking of?" Drax asked. He had both knives in his hands. Every muscle was taut.

"_He_, who? Who could possibly do what the Enchantress could?" Clint ignored the others to ask.

"Thanos," he breathed.

Gamora's hands fell away from him. Fearing she may let go completely, Loki tried to pull himself away first. He groaned, holding his arm against his ribs. None of them were shattered any longer, but his mind refused to believe it. Over time, the phantom sensations would pass. He sat, propped against the communication console as he looked at the three of them. Just below Drax's arm, Rocket and the others appeared also. The commotion had summoned them.

"Why should you feign surprise?" Loki asked poisonously. "Barton, the man who loyally killed in my name. Who followed me in abject admiration. You knew the very heart of the deal I made with Thanos the day I accepted his Chitauri. If I could not give him the Tesseract, then no world would be large enough to hide me from his hand."

His eyes narrowed at Gamora. "I should have never known him had you not dragged me into his presence. Your plans to escape, your thoughts of something to cover those crimes you committed in his name. Did you imagine, with my help, to wipe your past clean? What about my own history? Could you spare me that as well? A home I'd been forced out of. Abandoned on a slab of ice to die by what parents had birthed me into this cruel world? Would you have saved me from that?"

His attention shifted back to Barton. "I sent you to your death on Alfheimr because I knew the only threat against my control of Asgard, was a land of nature-loving elves. They held no defense against what I might bring, and yet Thor ruined everything with his pact with Rinon. You should have just died when I sent you there. I might not have destroyed the entire elven race then, but I would have stopped their opposition. Then the worlds might not be trembling now at the thought of Alfheimr ships rousting out their very lives. I gave Thanos what I had to, to save us all. Rinon is going to defy us. He is merely out to seize control while we are at our weakest. Not anymore."

Listening to this outpouring of emotion, Clint's alarm escalated more and more. At the final statement, he sailed forward, grabbed the sides of Loki's shirt and held it tightly in his shaking fists. "What the hell did you just do?"

Loki placed his hands of Barton's. He searched the archer with his eyes, willing for him to understand the logic that he so plainly saw. "Alfheimr is the enemy here. If not this moment, then soon. Rinon will place himself in the position of power, of incomparable character, just as he had to achieve the elven throne. Had he not rescued Odin on the field of battle, he would have none of the confidence of his people. He will not stop when Galactus comes!"

"That doesn't make any sense!" Clint matched his voice level. "You're describing a man I've never even met! Tell me what you did, Loki, or God help me, you will not be landing in this ship with us!"

He lifted his chin. A cold, calculating expression fixed the archer. "When you wish to rid yourself of a pest, you destroy where he lives."

Clint didn't want riddles, games, or half-truths. He didn't want an explanation as to why, or to face the fact that Loki might even be right. Clint had seen two different forms of that elven admiral already. Was it possible he was being played on both sides? Clint's mind slowed, and all at once, he understood what Loki meant.

"Alfheimr." He whispered.

His hand opened, and he let the frost giant go. The ship's autopilot kicked on the landing procedures. They were approaching the atmosphere of Cross Lake. It wouldn't be long now until they touched down, and Peter could find the help he needed. Clint only made a passing note of the change. His entire focus was on Loki. "Thanos is going after Alfheimr. You gave it to him. There's no one left but the old and children. All of their ships are evacuating earth. Without the young, their entire race dies."

Clint could hardly believe his own words, but Loki's face confirmed it all. Elves didn't procreate like normal beings. They had a very narrow window in which to raise young. Anyone below that age, was left on Alfheimr during the war to preserve their race. If Thanos destroyed Alfheimr, there would be nothing left to repopulate their species. The elves would be homeless, and eventually, extinct. That bond they shared with the very land, the one the poor Southling girl lost forever on her banishment, would be gone.

Scorched earth. Leaving nothing behind. Burn it all away. Thanos might not have the strength in his ships, his allies, and his agents to oppose the elven race, but he could take on Alfheimr itself.

With more composure than he expected, Clint said, "We're touching ground in ten minutes. Rocket, call Tony and give him the update. Tell him to take whatever ships they haven't used in the Earth evacuation, and send them to Alfheimr now. I'm taking Drax, and the two of us are going to retrieve the Infinity Gauntlet. Gamora, stay with the ship, and watch Loki while he makes us a new portal. One big enough for the Quinjet to fit through. I'm going to Alfheimr, and I'm stopping Thanos, even if I have to do it alone."

His attention fell strictly on Loki. "You're dead to me. Once I leave this place, I never want to see your face again. If I ever do, I will kill you."

* * *

Holy crap! what did Loki do? stay tuned!

Next time: Natasha's secret and Bartering with Sarhorns

please review!


	27. Chapter 25

ooops, i meant to say the end of part 3, but it looks like i wont have the time. but, here is one more!

* * *

**I Can Hear the Drums  
**

Chapter 25

No one watched Natasha do it. She thought someone might be hanging over her shoulder, or sitting behind some monitor, somewhere, staring and silently judging as she plucked the pink product right off the shelf and considered it in her hand. She resisted the urge to look both ways. Only thieves in movies or guilty wannabees did that.

She wanted this, and she was taking it, and she was not going to pay for it. That was how the five different pregnancy tests found their way into her bag. Paranoia made her imagine the entire world had gathered to observe the theft, but that was all it truly was. There was hardly a soul left in the state, let alone the little corner store on 5th and Broadway of Manhattan. The food had all been stolen, or gathered by government officials, elves, normal humans, and super heroes. Nothing was left on the planet that might prove edible. No one knew how long the human race might be displaced from their planet. Nothing could be left behind.

Pregnancy tests weren't a hot commodity, apparently, unlike the empty racks of condoms that existed beside them. Rinon's vision had shaken her to the very core. She knew this was just a precaution. A stupid one she could hardly believe she'd fed into, but a precaution nonetheless. That was her attempt to convince herself the entire drive back home.

She considered dumping the entire bag into a waste pin in the abandoned lobby of Stark Tower, but for some reason didn't. She considered stuffing them under Clint's bed when she reached their shared room, but walked into the bathroom with them instead. She even considered flushing them down the toilet after opening the first box. Natasha did none of those things she considered.

As crazy as it sounded, she had to know for sure, which is why when Pepper walked in to find her, Natasha was pacing the length of Clint's room in a disjointed haze. Five hormone-finding strips were laid out on Clint's dresser top, waiting the two minutes it took to turn red or blue, one line or two, pregnant or not pregnant.

Pepper had been saying something as she walked in. She had a portfolio in her hand, which instantly slipped out and skittered across the floor. Her hand remained extended and frozen. There was no stopping Pepper from unseeing it all, regardless that Natasha considered knocking her unconscious right on the spot. Terrified that Tony might be soon to follow, Natasha lunged across the room and slammed the door shut. She threw the lock and stood, pressed against the entry.

"Don't scream," Natasha pleaded. "You scream and, even if I like you, I will shoot you, do you understand me?"

Open-mouthed and gulping like a fish, Pepper's head wagged. Her finger pointed to the row of tests. "Is . . .is that . . . Are you...?"

"I'm not!" Natasha blatantly pointed out. "I mean, I can't. You know that."

"Well, yeah...I mean...I do know that. But, what are you doing? Are you hiding in here?" Pepper took a step toward the line up, and Natasha rushed over to cut her off.

"No!"

Pepper stopped instantly and Natasha struggled to calm down. She was an assassin. A master spy. She could get herself out of this one. "No, don't look. I'm just taking a precaution, that's all."

"Missing a month and taking one test is a precaution, this is panic." Pepper pointed out. Her round, doe eyes filled in mirth. "Natasha, are you really thinking this could have happened? And stop the tough thing, Tony does that with me and I see right through it."

Natasha considered fighting her on it, but eventually gave up. There were only a few people in her life she chose to drop the I-can-murder-you-with-my-pinky act, and Pepper Potts made that list.

Refraining from revealing too much of Rinon's secret, Natasha did share her nervous anticipation about her encounter with the Sarhorn, and what she might have read into his words with her. Barton lived, if Natasha lived. They knew, or thought they knew, that Clint wasn't going to live at all.

"Unless he means you're pregnant." Pepper put together.

Natasha agreed, tense as a drum. The time was up on some of the tests, but she couldn't bring herself to even look at them.

"When was the last time you two…" Pepper let her voice trail off. Somehow, the fact that she was meant to come down to the living quarters and retrieve Natasha because the world was about to be destroyed with a cloud of poisonous gas, mattered a lot less.

The idea of Natasha Romanov and Clint Barton having a baby? _That_ was front page news.

"Not since before he left to find Quill. It's been months." Natasha folded her arms, suddenly self-conscious of the way Pepper was staring at her abdomen.

"How many? Like two? Three?"

"I don't know. Maybe four?" that was a lie. She knew the exact date Barton and she had had sex just to spite Loki sleeping next door. Not that the sex wasn't good, it just wasn't what she had planned for her first evening on the Gateway. Since the moment Rinon's vision beat that word, that feeling, into her soul, she simply couldn't shake the idea that something within her had altered. She counted back those days, and arrived at precisely fifteen weeks. It had been that long since he'd held her last.

"Do you want me to look to see if they're positive?" Pepper asked.

"No...Yes. No." Natasha changed her mind on a dime. This wasn't like her. What in the world did potential pregnancy do to her decision making? She tried to shake off the indecision, and took in a deep breath. She could do this.

Pepper reached over and held her hand, braving a punch to the nose if Natasha felt too threatened. Thankfully, that didn't occur. Together, they turned and took a few careful steps toward Clint's dresser top.

Nothing in Natasha's world was easy. She'd been experimented on for years. First infused with the soldier serum, then scarred for life to prevent ever becoming a mother. She was a Black Widow.

Russia didn't think a woman like her, with her experiences, training, and pricey anatomical changes should be able to procreate. They'd robbed her of motherhood in a time when she didn't care. She never expected to live outside of the Red Room Initiative, and finding love was as foreign of a concept as Bagel Thursday. Clint Barton introduced her to both. Whether or not he would also be the one to guide her in motherhood, would remain a mystery for now.

The minute they decided to at last brave the potential fears of what a positive test might bring, the room exploded in a wave of blaster fire. Pepper screamed. Natasha grabbed her, pulling the woman to the floor as the shots sliced Clint's room in half. The Kree warships had arrived.

Pepper lifted her head when the gunfire ceased. She looked toward the dresser where Natasha line of sight went also. There was nothing left. The entire upper half was destroyed, its contents littering the bedroom and the new hole into the adjacent bathroom. Natasha pushed up to her feet as the Kree warship peeled away. Three Alfheimr fighters were on its tail.

"Get up! We've got to move before they drop the gas." Natasha instructed, yanking Pepper to her feet.

Pepper kicked around in the rubble of shattered concrete and dry wall. "Maybe we can still find one!"

"No time!" Natasha shouted. She forcibly dragged Pepper away, leaving behind their answers in the smoldering wreckage.

Natasha barreled through the chopped up doorway, and took off for Stark's room. Pepper was right on her heels. She extended her leg and kicked the private quarter's door.

This room, too, was already on fire. Another Kree ship dove through the air, past the hole cut into the side of Tony's private suite. Seeing movement inside, it swung around. Its guns extending.

"Run!" Natasha screamed.

They bolted across the room, hit the bedroom doorway, and slammed right through it. The elevator doors to the landing platform a floor above them were propped open, but the elevator itself was gone. The cabled whistled in the air, smoking, as the car plunged ten stories down. Somewhere below, they heard it hit, explode, and a chunk of fireball and sprockets came rocketing up toward them.

Natasha and Pepper ran back for the main room. A gas grenade, containing the same deadly neurotoxin the Kree were dropping all over the world, had been shot into the room, cutting off their escape. Natasha yanked the door closed. Pepper pulled up the collar of her shirt, and wrapped it over her mouth and nose. The super soldier did the same.

They were trapped.

:(:):(:):

Clint tried to remember the name of the call girl Quill frequented. So much had happened since being in Cross Lake last, that he'd already forgotten. His rage and fear both worked in tandem to break his concentration on the world right in front of him. It was a good thing Drax came along, or he might have forgotten which way to turn at the fountain in the center of town. He remembered what the outside of the brothel looked like, but little else. He imagined the rest would come the minute he stepped through the front doors.

They landed easily enough at Cross Lake, just outside of Denali's tavern. His friend had already been called and informed of the events the minute they broke through the atmosphere. He met them outsides, sans his traditional heels and beehive wig, and instantly ferried them to the two-story wood home erected behind the diner. It resembled any traditional western home, with a style popular for the 1700s. Out on this untamed rangeland, it was oddly fitting.

A flutter of movement erupted when Groot and Drax muscled Peter's table-made-gurney through the front door. Denali's wife made plenty of spade in the front parlor and gathered the youngest of the over one dozen children into the kitchen. The oldest girl, though, remained with two of her brothers. She smiled at Clint. Denali's daughter was a surgeon for a while before he moved his family off of Earth. Clint knew Peter was in no better hands than right here.

He didn't stay long himself. Once the room was made ready and Pym dragged Loki and Gamora out to find a place for Clint's new portal, Barton left. He could trust Pym to get things done. He might have been nearing his sixties, but Hank was still an Avenger. Loki fought him. He wanted to find the Gauntlet with Barton and professed to some keen danger awaiting him in the district that Loki had yet to warn him of. All Clint heard was more lies. He'd say anything to get his hands on that treasure, especially now.

"The light on your sphere grows brighter, my friend." Drax said.

Clint snapped out of his thoughts to look down at the stone. Sure enough, it was glowing like the tail end of a lightning bug. "We're close." He said, clamping the sphere shut again.

"You believe this woman to possess it?"

"I'm not sure what I believe. It's here, somewhere. And this is Pete we're talking about. He hides things in plain sight. Stupid places. Like sticking an Easter egg on the hood of a car. Everyone always seems to find that one last because it's just too obvious."

Drax looked up and down the roadway of the red light district. He was good at obvious. In fact, it was something he often excelled at very well. Rocket called him Captain Obvious, though he knew of no such military ranking in the word. Either way, he never seemed to rise to a rank above Captain, which became frustrating at times in the twelve years since he'd been in the position.

He looked up at the signs swinging in the breeze or the gutters. He checked the windows, and noted the characters within, all drinking, playing cars, or dragging of women. The more Drax searched, the more he had the feeling of missing something. So he stopped.

Clint went on a little ways more, trying to locate the place where he'd watched Quill fall out a window. At the same time, he tried not to remember how happy he'd been when he helped do that or how Loki agreed to assist and the smiles on their faces before scaring the crap out of Star Lord. A lot changes in a few short weeks of being in space. He noticed Drax wasn't following. "You all right?" Clint asked.

Drax turned away, and looked back up the roadway they'd come from.

"Drax?" Clint asked.

"I believe I have fulfilled my duty as the Captain on Obvious things." He said, facing Clint. He smiled, which on a man such as him instilled just as much fear as it did confidence.

"Um, ok. Why don't you explain what you mean?"

Drax lifted his finger and pointed back in the direction they'd come. Clint worried that he was pointing out an incoming Loki, but that wasn't the case. Humoring him, Clint walked back to his side and stared in the direction he indicated. His heart jumped right into his throat.

"You are a genius!" Clint exclaimed, jogging back toward the heart of the town and the four colored fountain erected there. He should have thought of it before when Loki and he first arrived. This was exactly the place where a man like Peter Quill, who resorted to a dance off with a Kree usurper, would hide the most prized possession in the galaxy.

"I have never been called that." Drax replied, confused.

"Take the compliment." Clint stopped at the edge of the fountain and looked down into the well of coins, jewels, and other precious articles left by weary travelers. It seemed no matter where one found himself in the galaxy, the tales of wishes being granted from fountains still held true in public eye. The Gauntlet had to be in there, buried under a mound of coins. Loki's old warning kept him from sticking his hand in too quickly.

The lion stone that highlighted the top of the fountain was only there because no one had found a way to steal it. The fountain was likely defended by either some hidden body guard or held its own systems for repelling a would-be thief. To test the theory, Clint removed one of his arrows and carefully dunked the feathered end into the water. Almost instantaneously, the shaft melted. Acid, check.

"I would not suggest retching your hand in." Drax pointed out.

"Yeah, got that." Barton said. He rooted around in his pockets to come up with some form of metal or coin. Finding neither, he looked at Drax and held out his open hand. "Lend me a coin."

"I have no need for trivialities such as monetary award to remain in my pockets."

Clint gave him a sterner look.

Drax withdrew a unit and handed it over. Clint hovered it over the water next and dropped it in. in seconds it, too, completely disintegrated. Drax leaned over the water as he watched his money dissipate out in a ring.

"I don't get it, how did the rest get in there if it all just burns up? Is it some kind of trick?" Clint asked. He made another ring around the fountain, searching high and low for some sort of placard or instruction on its use. It was possible that the mound of treasure at the bottom was completely fictitious, like a hologram Tony might create. There had to be a trick to it.

Clint pulled the orb out of his jacket and accessed the cover again. The time stone was glowing brighter than ever. It could sense the gantlet was close by. Clint snapped the lid shut. He checked pis pockets again, let down his quiver and searched through a few of its compartments. He tended to have random bits of cash stowed for emergency. He soon uncovered a penny and triumphantly dangled it over the water.

"Please let this one work." He whispered to no one in particular. The coin dropped, hit the water, and see-sawed its way to the bottom. Beneath its new weight a few piles of coins shifted. He could see the unmistakable glow of a bright, red stone hiding beneath. Wishing well, he thought. He had to make a wish to drop something in the well.

The fountain shifted on its base. Clint backpeddled in surprise as the entire structure suddenly came to life. The lion stone retracted downward as the shifting scene at the top reformed, molded, and created the face of a true lion. It roared into the night with its massive black jaws opened toward the distant planet that Cross Lake orbited. The historic scenes all flowed in their own time lines. Frost Giants battled Asgardians. Celestials beat back the advance of Galactus. Dark elves floated through a matt of black space with their light elf counterparts shutting them out of Alfheimr forever. At the very base of the fountain, the seven Sarhorns who were at one time crouching with the weight of the galaxy full of history on their backs, now stood up. They were taller than Clint, their faces made of black stone, iron ore, and flecks of color that caught the shimmer from the district lights. When one mouth opened, they all opened. A voice appeared that they all shared.

"For he who wishes with his heart

For he unsettled torn apart

Your strength we sense, we see, we feel

A sacrifice to come, a fracture to heal

Ask the Founders all you must

Ask the Founders, you we trust."

Drax came to stand beside Clint and look up into the stony faces. "This did not happen when we put the glove into the fountain."

"You helped put it there?!" Clint shouted.

Drax shrugged.

"Well, what am I supposed to do? I need the Gauntlet back. Do I just ask them?"

Another useless shrug.

Clint had entertained many strange conversations in his past with worlds full of peculiar people but never before had he been asked to converse with a statue. There was no time like the present. "Um, yeah. Hi. I'm here to take the Infinity Gauntlet. It was placed here, uh, in you for safe keeping and I need it returned to me."

The faces of the four Sarhorns Clint could see all turned to look down at him. We wondered if this was about to turn into a sphinx moment and they would resort to asking him a riddle.

"The founders hear his spoken plea

They consider the thoughts that motivate thee

Our choice to release the treasure to you

Not lightly taken, we must chose."

"Fair enough." Clint said, holding up his hands in supplication. He didn't have all the time in the world, but if the magical talking fountain with seven magical talking Sarhorns, and a magical roaring lion wanted to talk amongst themselves, who was he to try and stop them? He hoped that by now Rocket would have gotten a hold of Tony and the others. For some reason the communications in the Tower were down and they had to reroute the call through the Gateway to try and get in touch with Rinon's flagship. It was easier doing that work from the ground on Cross Lake.

The night covered world around them began to shake awake. Windows, doorways, and boardwalks came alive with a thousand species all poking out of their holes in interest. A few had seen the peculiar happenings of the fountain before. After all, most men wished for treasure and if they were good enough, sometimes the Founders gave it to them. Others went away empty handed. Most of the regulars and workers took a meager interest in the proceedings and returned to their stations. Clint was just one more traveler in a sea of others passing through.

"A decision reached

A heart unbreached

Pure in soul

And torn in toll

Your treasure is here, now take

From the Founders of this Cross Lake"

The stone Sarhorn directly in front of Clint retracted his hand, and pressed it into his own abdomen. The stone melted away beneath the searching fingers and soon it reappeared. The dripping wet Infinity Gauntlet extended toward him. Clint looked at it with trepidation. Surely the gawkers could see from their positions what treasure just appeared out of the fountain's water. He wanted to take it, stuff it into his jacket, and run off before anyone could stop him, but seeing the water gave him pause.

He elbowed Drax. "You're the one with thick skin. You take it."

"My skin is not thick," Drax said.

"I mean, you grab it because this archer doesn't exactly need his fingers melting off," Clint elaborated. He cast a wary glance around the square. Now that the show was mostly over, the people were retreating back to their drinks, cards, women, and men. A few stragglers remained in the shadows. Those were the ones he worried about.

"I do not wish for my fingers to suffer under the onslaught of poisonous water."

"Then slip your knife into it and pick it up," Clint replied.

The darkness crawled in on him. He felt it like a cool wave floating over his heart and a heightened sense of something shooting adrenaline through his veins. Something whispered by his ear. He turned again to find the owner of the voice but there was no one beside him save for Drax. He listened. The voice returned. Louder, more desperate.

"RUN!" it screamed.

Forgoing his initial concern, Clint reached out and snatched the Infinity Gauntlet out of the statue's hand. He touched it into his pocket and tried to shove Drax aside. "Move!" He ordered. Drax tried to comply at first. Suddenly an arrow appeared out of no where and pierced though his thigh. The giant buckled and toppled over onto his face.

The darkness of the four corner town exploded in a shower of light. Something went whistling by them and hit the fountain. Half a second later, the colors, light, rock, and water of the grand structure detonated. Clint threw himself into the dirt beneath Drax. The face of the Sarhorn Clint had spoken with tumbled through the air and slammed into a post across from them. The lion stone shot straight up into the air, followed by a cascade of celestials, light elves, and human figurines. When the world stopped moving around them, Clint unearthed himself from beneath the mountain of fresh and pushed Drax onto his back. He looked down at the arrow sporting from his flesh and his blood ran cold. It was an elven weapon.

"I will kill he who has pierced my flesh!" Drax roared.

Clint called his bow to his hand and pulled an arrow against its string. They couldn't stay in the open like this. The explosion was bound to drag the horrified patrons out of their holes again to see what was the matter. For now the billowing black smoke clouded the air around them and kept their forms hidden. Beside him, Drax yanked the arrow out and considered it angrily.

"Can you stand? Cause we really, really need to go right now."

Drax proved himself by struggling up. Clint gave him the crook of his arm for a handhold, but remained trained on the smoke around them.

"_Behind you!" _That warning voice screamed again.

Clint swung around, but held his arrow steady. He had an idea of what he may find but actually seeing it himself gave him pause. It was the Southling girl, the prostitute from the tavern up the street. She had her Elven bow, her elaborate carved arrows, trained between his eyes. Her hand quivered against the string.

Clint stepped back once, to show his submission. It worked with her before and maybe she'd take it as a sign he still meant her no harm. He didn't want to kill her, or even wound her. She was nothing more than a terrified, alone, child. "Don't do this, Southling. There is nothing I have done to you here beside try to show you respect. You can still walk away from this."

She took another trepidous step in his direction. The smoke and ash flew up around her as the superheated rock literal burned like coals in a fire. Clint could see streams of tears dragging down her face as she stared him down. "Vie mel yṻla hale." _I don't want to do this,_ she whispered.

"Then don't. Step back and I won't hurt you." Clint pulled his arrow a little closer to his cheek and rested his hand along his jaw. He didn't have to kill her, but he could stop her.

The Southling sobbed. He struggled to understand why as her hand slipped along the nock of her arrow. She was going to release it. Clint was faster than her. He sent his arrow up, just over her head, and the tip sliced through the string on her bow. He ducked to the side as the bow did the one thing he'd always warned his archery students about. It exploded. No tension was left to keep the limbs pulled back, so they shot forward incredibly fast. The upper limb snapped instantly, sending splinter shards in every direction. The lower limb followed the first, but it wasn't until it recoiled that the wood broke off. The transected string collapse like a rubber band. An edge of it flew into her face, nearly scarring her eye as it cut a neat line through her cheek. The arrow went wild. Clint had lost a few bows in his younger days to broken strings, dry firings, or other nonsense. He'd seen bad archery accidents before, but this ranked with one of the worst. The Alfheimr made bows were incredibly strong to keep up with the power of their wielders. Breaking one was like setting off an industrial slingshot.

The shock of the thing should have stopped her, or at the least frightened her. The Southling seemed completely unfazed. She came at him with a knife instead. Though only a young elf she still had a hundred years of heavy training for war beneath her. She was as strong as Thor. Drax might have stepped to Clint noble aid instantly, the Southling threw him off as if he was a paper airplane. Clint drew another arrow but his hesitation at killing her was the edge she needed to get in close. She grabbed the human by his jacket front and forced him back into the side of a building. The glassware a small wall away rattled with the impact of his body. Just in front of them, the smoking wreckage of the fountain was finally beginning to die down. Three of the closest saloon fronts had caught fire. Flames licked into the air of the red light district and man, woman, and beast went pouring into the roadway to scoop sand on the destruction before the whole block was consumed.

The Southling's fist tightened around Barton. She produced a dagger from her waist and flourished it forward. Her eyes were wide in terror, disbelief. It was as if she wanted to stop and could not.

"Help me!" she whispered in a desperate plea.

"You can stop this! Let me go! You don't have to do this!" One of Clint's hands reached up to catch her wrist, preventing the blade from plunging down into his chest. The other sought out his own knife.

"I must!" She cried. Forcing her hand down more. If Clint resisted any longer, she was going to break his arm.

"No you don't! You have a choice! Can help you! I can talk to Rinon, to the queen. I can bring you back home again. But if you kill me now, that is never going to happen, do you understand?!" Clint found his knife. He tried to flick it open, but his hand slipped on the grip and it went clattering to the ground. Drax was trying to get to his feet. The arrow wound slowed him down. Within seconds a fourth saloon began to catch fire. The heat of it swept across the street, bringing a barrage of cinders with it. The archer used his second hand to help support the first and prevent the swiftly coming death.

"He promised to let me go. He promised to let me go home. I just wanted to go home."

Clint's world crushed. Suddenly, it all made sense.

A shot rang out in the streets, reverberating in the air like canon fire. The people screamed, ducked for cover, and escaped the fires threatening to spread farther and farther. The Southling's hands went lax against him and the dagger tumbled away.

"No!" Clint screamed, catching her in his arms. Standing just behind her with a gun in his hand was Hank Pym.

The Avengers checked his pistol and returned it to the pancake holster at the small of his back. He smiled a little at Clint. "I thought she had you for sure. Glad I decided to show up when I did."

Clint want to reach out and strike him but the girl was going limp in his arms. He lowered her to the ground, trying to stem the blood flow from her wound. Her hand fell open to the side of her and he saw there what he came to expect. The purple brand. Thanos' new mark for his spies and slaves. He must be hard at work calling in all his favors across the galaxy. The Southling was a single piece of that ever expanding puzzle.

She tried to form words through the blood-stained lips, but Clint told her not to struggle. He wanted to get her help, but knew there was no use. Pym was deadly accurate with a gun.

"I'm taking you come." Clint told her, stroking the side of her face in is hand. "I'll take you there myself. You won't be a lost soul. Not anymore."

He imagined her thanking him in Elvish, smiling, and gently passing into the next life in his arms. But his eyes never deceived him. She only looked forward into the sky as the darkness closed in on her. She was cold, terrified, wild with fear. He held her and spoke calm Elven words as she struggled against death itself until that mighty beast won and her body fell emptily against him. Clint's eyes closed and he held her a little tighter. Pym looked down on the scene more than a little confused. He wanted to say something, but Clint's grief kept him quiet for a time. Drax limped over, rubbing the new knob of the back of his head.

"We must leave the dead elf and return to our ship," he said bluntly.

Clint lifted his eyes to look at them. "We aren't leaving her. She didn't do this because she wanted to. She's another child of that Enchantress's old tricks. Just like I was once. This wasn't her fault. It's not fair to leave her."

Pym hiked a thumb at the destruction around them "The big guy is right, though. Barton we've got to make tracks. This place is going to come down on us."

Pym had a point. They needed to get moving again. Clint slipped his hands under the Elven girl and held her against his chest. Together the three of them stole beneath the fire smoke toward the light side of the moon. The Infinity Gauntlet, and the Southling's body, went with them.

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that's all for now! poor natasha cant get a break.

Next time: Escaping earth, escaping Cross Lake

please review!


	28. Chapter 26

EEK! thank you so much for the reviews! We are going to have quite a trip over the next couple weeks as i get chapters back from the amazing editor!

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I Can Hear the Drums

By: Ezra Cross

Chapter 26

Trapped. Natasha Romanov did not tolerate that concept. She was never trapped. Never endured a mission that she couldn't get out. There was always something she could do or figure out. Right now was not like those times.

She worked with Pepper to stuff all of the contents of Tony's sock drawer against the door jamb to create a seal. JARVIS was down, the Tower must have taken a direct hit along the way. Pepper sailed across the room near the elevator shaft but it was still little more than a tower of flames and debris. They were not getting out that way. Three windows lined the wall across from them. Natasha went there first. She checked outside, looking to see if that poisonous cloud of yellow dust had settled completely over the city. What she found was a complete war.

Alfheimr's fighters hunted down the Kree ships and shot them out of the sky. With each explosion, the yellow mist spread. The Kree didn't care about winnng this fight, saving their men, or fighting another day. They only wanted utter decimation however it must come. Like Kamikazees they dropped out of the air and sailed toward the ground in entire squadrons. Manhattan was being destroyed, piece by piece, by that raining onslaught.

"Natasha." Pepper whispered, terrified.

They couldn't see the _Voiya Rose_ or the jump ship that Rinon commanded to bring them to the Tower initially. There was nothing but the Alfheimr fighters and dying Kree.

"What are we going to do?" Pepper asked.

They had to get out. Bust the glass open and try to climb up to the landing strip. Rinon, Linnor, someone might see them there. Tony would never leave the planet without them, or at least without Pepper. This was Natasha's fault. She shouldn't have stopped to worry about something that could never happen. She'd let Rinon's ideas get into her head and look where that lead. If Pepper died here, Tony would never forgive her for it. He might even drop out of this war effort. What left would he have to fight for? Friendship? That was a thin line to walk when it came to him. How many times did his falling out with Steve affect the entire team? How many times had he abandoned them when they needed him most? Natasha wanted to focus on the task at hand, but it was difficult when she knew it to be a fruitless one. They were going to die at Stark Tower.

The elevator shaft cackled and crashed again as something overhead dislodged. The entire upper propulsion system went rocketing down to the wreckage below in a tangle of gears, wires, and concrete. Natasha was standing by the window with a chair in her hand ready to break right through it when Tony Stark appeared in his Iron Man suit. He hovered in the flames of the elevator shaft.

"What were you two doing? Painting your nails?!" he shouted through his audio system. "Don't you know there's a war going on?"

"Tony!" Pepper exclaimed.

"I can honestly say I've never been happier to see you." Natasha admitted, relaxing a little.

"Well that's a first. I should have recorded that." Tony said. He lifted his right hand, pointed his index finger and leveled it at Pepper. From the hole he made in the air shaft above, a second suit of armor came tumbling down one piece at a time. They adhered to Pepper's body in steady succession until lastly the faceplate dropped into place and her three dimensional display blinked to life. "Now you aren't allowed to say my Christmas gifts suck anymore."

Pepper glided over and threw her metal arms around his neck. "When I get out of this suit, I am going to kiss you!"

"Less talky, more move-y!" Stark glided to the side and sent her up the elevator shaft to the waiting ship hovering above them. He turned his attention downward, brought his hands together, and fired a repulsor blast into the shaft below. The concrete slab and remnants of the flaming elevator car dropped another few hundred feet, making it safe to bring Natasha out.

The assassin protected her hands from the heat on the outside of his suit by tucking them into her sleeves. She hopped onto his back and held on for dear life. They sailed upward to join Pepper in the cargo hold of the jump ship. Lirrie waited until they were settled inside before he accessed the door panel and slammed the hold shut. The hiss of an air tight seal made sure that whatever neurotoxin was wiping out human life did not penetrate the ship.

"Bruce!" Pepper exclaimed.

Natasha looked over and sure enough, Bruce Banner came sailing out of the cockpit to meet them. He accepted Pepper's embrace and reached a hand over to pat Natasha on the shoulder. He was smiling like a man released from a jail sentence. Tony detached his helmet and tucked it beneath his arm.

"Found him tearing up a pyramid ten minutes ago. I ran off to pick him up before the place went up in smoke. We thought you might show up here on one of the Kree ships." Tony explained. Lirrie tapped his shoulder and indicated the helmet. Tony smiled a little and handed it over. The elf was Rinon's armor bearer in war. He couldn't help himself.

"Has the love of my life survived the jaws of a Kree trap?" Linnor asked, stepped out behind Bruce. He flashed his saucy grin in Natasha's direction and winked.

It was times like these Natasha wished she had let Clint buy her a ring if only to see its indent on the faces of the men she punched. Linnor was a harmless womanizer, though. "You know, one of these days you are going to woo the wrong woman and some husband's going to knock you down with a baseball bat."

"Do not encourage him. He loves the chance to fight over a woman." Lirrie said with a smile.

"Where's Rinon?" she asked.

Linnor pointed up. "Sending the Midgardians through the portal to Xandar. He wishes for us to join him at once. There has been a transmission from Rellya of great importance, enough so he could not share. Reylano's voice shook when he told me of it, not an easy feat. Faraday pilots us there at once."

"Maybe Clint finally found the Infinity Gauntlet." Tony wondered hopefully.

"That I am not sure of."

Bruce looked between them all with no small amount of confusion. "Well, I guess this is the part where you all start filling me in on what just happened, how I got back to earth, and why there's no body left on it."

:(:):(:):

Clint stepped through the back door of Denali's house, sending a gentle nod toward the cross dresser's wife, who sat perched on a kitchen chair with one of their youngest girls in her arms. She smiled at him but made no other move. Peter Quill was sprawled on the granite-topped island a few feet away. Denali's oldest girl and one of his sons were working to stitch the man back together. It was an arduous battle, apparently, if the sweat on their brows held any indication.

"Geez, Barton, what the hell is going on out there? The whole city's freaking out! I've had five men pounding down my door looking for you!" Denali ushered the three men inside, stuck his head out into the daylight to check for followers, and sunk back in. He threw the door shut, flicking various lock bolts into place

"I found it," Clint said. He tapped the blood-stained jacket he wore.

Denali's eyes flicked down at the hidden treasure in Clint's jacket, then back up to the man's face. The progression repeated a few times while he came to grips with the precise nature of what was now under his roof. He started to shake his head.

"No, no, no, Clint, you can't stay here! Not with that! Every cut throat on this moon is searching for Terran blood. The only reason I got away with having Quill here was he's only half Terran. You've gotta get out of here!"

"Don't worry, I plan too. Loki?"

"Tied to my arm chair with the raccoon watching him. He made that portal, the one you asked for, but what's this all about?" Denali followed Clint into the next room where Rocket sat across from the dark prince himself. A considerable sized weapon rested comfortably in the lab experiment's hands. He had no qualms about pointing it at Loki's face.

"Denali, it's better you not know. Trust me," Clint replied.

"Trust you? I can't help but trust you. What are you going to do with that thing? Why are you covered in blood?"

Clint ignored the barrage of questions and leaned down to remove the gag someone, most likely Rocket, had tied to Loki's mouth. Loki made a big show of flexing his jaw to prove his discomfort. He also indicated the overkill of chains strapping him down.

"Is all of this—"

"It really is necessary," Clint cut him off. "You knew that Southling girl because you worked with her. She was an agent of Thanos like you were. She's dead now. Her bodies in my ship, and I'm taking her home. I'm going to stop Thanos anyway I can. Pym called the others. There is no way for Rinon and their armada to even reach Alfheimr before Thanos does. I don't know what I'm going to do, but I'm stopping him somehow. You, though, are staying right here. Pete lives, you live. He'll drop you off on Vanaheim where Asgard will take you into custody again. Pete dies," Clint roughly yanked the gag back up and through Loki's protests tied it back into place. The archer leaned forward a little, his lips a hairsbreadth from Loki's ear as he whispered for only the Frost Giant to hear. "If Pete dies, then I will tell Drax how to get you, how to torture you, how to strip away all those feelings you think you don't have. He wont kill you. I will. Any time I want."

Clint pulled away, a darkness falling into his gaze as he let the words pass between them. He hit Loki's shoulder with his hand where once Barton's arrow had pierced the Frost Giant through. A reminder of all that he was still capable of.

His attention turned to Gamora. "Watch him. He moves? Shoot him. No one is following us. Stay here with Quill. Once he can be moved, get out of this system. Rendezvous on Vanaheim."

"That doesn't make sense, you can't just go out there against Thanos alone! What are you going to do?" Rocket demanded, standing in his chair.

"You aren't coming," Clint told him flatly. "None of you are. The _Milano's_ gone, I don't have time for you to tinker a bomb together, and Rocket, I need you watching Loki. Until Quill's on his feet, I'm leaving you in charge of the team."

Loki muffled a protest. Gamora looked up but said nothing against Barton's decision making. Clint turned from them and stalked out of the room. He cast a final glance toward Pete. He told himself the guardian would be all right, but he had no real way of knowing for sure. Denali's kids had talent in their crafts. He was in no better hands.

"Pym," Clint quipped.

"You can't take him!" Rocket exclaimed.

"He's got no choice. If a Terran stays here, those scoundrels out there combing the city are going to sniff him out and hang him for information." Denali spoke up. "If he stays, he's dead. He has to go."

Hank moved away from the hall and fell into step with Barton. Together they reached the front door. Denali jogged past them and stopped them. He placed a hand of Clint's arm.

"Look, Barton, I've known you a while. Be careful out there."

Clint scoffed. "Careful? Why? I've got Pym, the gauntlet of death, and an entire empire waiting to kill me. Worry about Pym. I don't die for another five and a half years." He tugged Pym's shirt and together, they slipped into the whirling winds of the desert moon.


	29. Chapter 27

Sorry...not sorry!

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Chapter 27

Rinon's hands rested along the back of Linnor's pilot's chair. Beside him Lirrie cast a concerned glance up at the Elven leader, but no words followed the expression. What could be said? What comfort drawn from the reality of life waiting to face them down? Nothing at all was left to do but to hurry, fly, and try to do what could be done to stop Thanos' forces in their path. He knew that wasn't enough to soothe Rinon's soul. In fact, it wasn't enough for any elf of good sense. More likely than not Alfheimr was going to burn and there was not a single thing Rinon and all of the might he showed could do to stop it.

"Vanaheim's sending everything they can. They'll be in Alfheimr space in less than twenty four hours. Nova wants to send some of the smaller ships to the Alfheimr portal, but it's being tied up with Earth's evacuation. He planned this. He planned it perfectly." Tony studied the revolving map of the galaxies. Flickering red lights which represented Thanos' impending armada, highlighted the lower left of the screen as they cut three separate paths through the charts. One wave of Kree ships continued to fly downward from the little moon outside Svartalfheim where they'd lured the Alfheimr ships. A second wave had been hunkered down just within Galaxy Red. A Third in Oore. Together, these factions of lights blinked across the screen as they came closer and closer to the little planet in the Nine Reals where Rinon's entire race hailed as home.

The _Voiya Rose_ hovered between the Mars Portal and Earth. Its skeleton crew had gathered on the piloting deck, a single room really, where Linnor and Lirrie, or Linnor and Faraday, could communicate directly with the inner workings of the ship's dynamics. Lirrie, Faraday, Linnor, Rinon, Tony, Pepper, Bruce, Natasha, T'Challa, Logan, and Storm all stood and considered what little options they had.

There was nothing, no one, left on planet Earth but the deceased bodies of those who couldn't be saved. Everyone else, even those who refused aid, were both willingly and unwillingly dragged to safety during the evacuation. It would take time, but soon all of them would be taken to the temporary shelters erected on Nova Luna. The Xandarians set out to help the refugees settle in while the Vanaheim fleet scrambled to join. The company of the _Voiya Rose_ looked amongst themselves to decide who must leave now, join those refugee ships to keep the chaos from reaching hysterical proportions, and who must stay behind and meet Clint in Alfheimr, if there was anything left in the realm when they arrived.

"T'Challa can't be anywhere near Clint," Tony said seriously.

T'Challa raised an eyebrow. "I hope you would think that I contain more self-control than what has been assumed of me. I might also point out, that I am unwed."

"The Sarhorn said it's on you. You betray him. We all agreed you're out. You're the king of a nation, you need to go be with your people, not running around with us." Natasha put her foot down firmly on the subject. The African leader might have sent her an angry look, but she was completely immune to it.

"Logan, you stand in for us and heroes on our side, and the mutant side, look up to you. I think you should go with T'Challa," Storm added.

"And you?" Logan asked.

She grinned. "I'll fly, of course."

Tony nodded. He might have made the suggestion himself if they hadn't. All that remained was Pepper, Bruce, Natasha, the Elves, and himself.

"I'm going." Pepper announced instantly.

Natasha's surprised matched the others. "Really?"

"I helped form the plans for the food rations and I'm on the board for distribution. If I don't go, then the responsibility falls on two others who don't exactly agree. I need to be there and see the project through," she rationalized. Tony was her support, though. If he needed her to stay, she would.

"It makes sense," he said after a time. He didn't like it, but he'd agree with it.

Bruce could see how the decision dropped tension between them instantly. Hoping to diffuse a little of it, he said, "I'll go too. After spending a few months in space on a Kree ship, I think you understand if I wouldn't want to go galloping back to Thanos. I'll stick with Pepper, Tony."

Touched by the tender assurance, he wanted to smile. Unfortunately one, very large, obstacle still stood in his way. He told himself the moment Pepper and he reunited he'd come clean about his cancer. The pain and loss Clint went through, alone, when he kept his own illness secret affected him deeply. With her leaving, he might have to move up his plans and let her know sooner rather than later. His attention changed to the Elves.

"Our duty is to our people," Faraday told them. "Linnor is all that remains of my kin, but I am still one of a clan, and that clan is of a nation. We will go onward to Alfheimr."

"No one would question that," Bruce said.

"Yeah, well, I'm going with Natasha and the Elves," Tony piped in to no one's surprise. "Clint's going to reach the realm before the rest of us can since Loki's on his side of the galaxy. I don't know what he's planning to do when he gets there but I at least want a chance to see him again before all this blows up."

"We do still have time, though it may not seem so. Do you believe that in the coming years you might never reunite?" T'Challa asked.

It took Tony less than a second to decide a proper response to that. "I don't have time. I haven't had time since we nearly lost him before. We've been running for so long on this hamster wheel going from one battle to the next and the next and the next, that you know what? I'm done! The only reason I care about what's about to happen is because of the people that're going to be stuck in it." He straightened, dropping his hands to his side as the anger welled into him. "Cause I don't want to leave Pepper without Clint to protect her and me to love her."

At that news, even Rinon turned in place. He looked over at the group and the revelation he began to see coming dropped on them all.

Pepper took a few steps closer to him. "Tony."

"Aging sucks," he said, deadpan. "It sucks and there's nothing you can do about it. Not special potion, no hoping to some alien race, nothing. There's just this ugliness that you're stuck with till it just wads up and it kills you, and guess what, it's killing me. It's _**killing**_ me."

Pepper threaded her arms around his neck. The Iron Man dropped his lips into the crook of her and inhaled the scent of fresh lemons and lavender. His whispers consisted of apologies long forgotten, confessions never made, secrets never shared. He laid it all out. Uttered the word that had been eating away at their life ever since it hit Clint first over a year ago. Cancer. It was slowly ruining them, one member at a time.

"I want to see him again, Pep, I haven't told him. He needs to know it from me. Then I'm coming back. You and me are going to sit this one out together." Tony's eyes rose over her shoulder to land on Bruce. "You need to run my ship, trap Galactus. I wont make it there."

Bruce opened his mouth and stood gaping. He could have never anticipated a world without Tony Stark. That wasn't how this planned to go. Tony needed to be there. Bruce needed him there the way he'd needed him ever since leaving his life on the run behind. He could still see Tony's face that day, years ago, as he talked Bruce into joining Stark Industries. His life was surrounded by Stark's friendship on all sides. Though Bruce had others, was close to others, nothing compared to Tony.

"You—You're—Are you sure?" Bruce asked because he could not help it.

"I've never had kids. That was my fault, Bruce, but that ship, that's my baby. You know how to make her fly. She's ready to go, now, should something happen, but I can't do this. I can't anymore. I'm getting too sick to do it," Tony told him. Pepper's arms tightened and he let her.

_But I need you too, _Bruce thought. It wasn't the science, he could understand that, he just didn't want to. He didn't want to face this without Tony next to him. The guy was selfish and selfless. He cared about everyone and only himself. A complete oxymoron with two legs and a mouth, and that man Bruce cared for like a twin was severing their connection forever. He might have said yes, agreed to whatever Tony wanted as a way to placate him. But that wasn't his heart.

Bruce's core had shattered.

:(:):(:):

The word armada came from the Latin origin armare. It meant, literally, to arm. In the mid-16th century the Spanish played with the sound of the word when they decided to create the famous Spanish Armada which, coincidentally, was crushed by King Philip II of England in 1588. In a way, calling something an armada, was to dredge up that hundreds year old history, and perhaps even cursing the fleet to an eventual doom.

At least, that's what rolled through Hank Pym's mind as he stood in the forward cabin, gazing into that coming fleet of Thanos' ships. As for Clint Barton, no such history floated into his mind. He liked to point out when the situation called for it, that he had never finished his gradeschool education. Having run away from the Waverly orphanage he'd been sent too, Clint continued on in life with nothing but the education of some days in the army and training in SHIELD. Bruce constantly supplemented his poor knowledge in other areas by bribing him into a classroom once in a while.

When Clint kicked the jet into auto-pilot and stood up beside Pym to really take in the depths of everything laid out before them, he looked at it with the eyes of a military man only. A single word crossed through him. Hopeless.

He had a long history with the word hopeless. Fighting cancer was hopeless. Stopping Thanos the first time. Eradicating the UIC-1 virus. Defending mutants during the registration act. Helping Tony to walk again. Having a daughter, though only for a short time. Opening his archery range. Surviving the woods of Alfheimr with elaren venom in him. Overcoming life as a deaf Avenger. Uprooting Hydra…

Everything Clint had ever faced, that mattered, was hopeless. This didn't even compare, he told himself. This was a drop of water in the ocean. A single ripple in a lake. He would defeat Thanos and his armada, come Hell or highwater and it most certainly would not be the first of those.

"What are we going to do?" Pym whispered, as if Thanos might hear.

"Rinon's ships are hours out. We just have to hold them off," Clint said.

"For hours?! Clint, we're one ship! My suit cant touch something like that! What are you planning to do? Throw your arrows at it?"

"It doesn't matter what we do, all Thanos wants is the Infinity Gauntlet and to crush Alfheimr's support. Once he has that, he has everything. So we need to stop him here." Clint moved toward the weapons console and took inventory of what firepower they did have. The minute he sat, he was forced to jockey back up. The time stone rested in his pocket, ununited with the others still. Clint didn't know what would happen if they were to combine and he wasn't about to find out on his ship.

He set the sphere on the console beside him and began sorting through their external munitions. They had fifteen minutes, most, before Thanos' faster ships picked up on their location and began to open fire.

"Clint, this is insane!" Pym continued. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the countless ships on the horizon. Space itself was big, but as far as he could see, as far as the viewscreen stretched, the armada did too. From above and below, Chitauri dead soldiers, their massive floating serpents, and garrisons just kept coming closer and closer. He doubted Alfheimr and Rinon himself could do anything to stop Thanos.

"It's not, we can do this. You just need to calm down and let me think."

"I don't care what race said something about you jumping off some cliff. This, what we're doing now, is suicide!"

The ship rocked as a chunk of stone orbiting Alfheimr's moon collided with them. The sphere rolled from the desk across the floor. Pym chased it down. Clint glanced over his shoulder to see what had happened, but the minute he did, his opportunity to stop the events already passed.

"Hank, no!" Clint exclaimed, lunging out from behind the console.

The stone's careful casing had already begun to clambshell away. The layers of protective metal slid easily from each other like a flower blooming. Pym was transfixed at the sight, even as the little gem within finally came into view. The time stone. An Infinity Gem. It all made sense now. He knew what he had to do. Clint might not understand, comprehend, the fact that they were about to die in that coming armada. Pym did. He could stop it all, right here, with the gem. If he could just hold it for a moment, then it would all be over.

"STOP!" Clint's voice shrieked from some distant place.

Pym grabbed the stone, held its radiance against the flesh of his palm and marveled at the beautiful jewel. It was like an entire world was trapped inside, waiting in his hands to be released. He, Hank Pym, could stop this coming death. He could not only stop it, he could fix it, rewrite it, change everything they'd ever done. Filed with the stone's power his eyes lifted to Barton.

Clint took a step back. Pym's irises were emblazoned in the stone's purple hue. His voice had changed, deepened like some wraithlike spirit had possessed him. The archer called his bow to his hand and grabbed the nearest arrow. It was starting. This was his mistake. He'd let his guard down for a second, and suddenly the twenty predictions were all crashing down around him.

"Thanos has lived long enough with these crimes. Our insignificant lives have been too long spent simply surviving in a galaxy that is not perfect. He will stop those things that make men weak. Destroy the boundaries of mortal men. Usher in an age of greater awakening in the pith of darkness that falls." Pym's fist closed around the purple stone. "He shall feed forever!"

"Pym, you're talking crazy, I need you to let go of the stone!"

"Let it go?" Pym asked, squeezing harder onto it. "No, not until my work is done! Not until my master is served! To GALACTUS!"

A blast of energy slammed Clint backward. He hit the side of the ship's controls, dropped to his knees, and forced his head up to look. He'd never seen anything like it. Suddenly it all made sense. Why Hank Pym would dare defy his friends, expose the entire galaxy to Galactus' wrath, and triggure the events that lead to their eventual demise.

Clutching the power of the time stone, Pym's entire form changed. His face rearranged as if it had been made out of soft puddy. The bones, breaking, reforming, stacking up muscles. Clint scrambled up the console to reach his feet as standing before him now, the shape changing Herald from Galactus appeared out of the form that had once been Hank. Clint blinked, wanting to scrub his hands over his eyes and claim that he must be delusional. But there the creature remained, a wolf among sheep this entire time.

"N—No! No! What happened to Pym! What did you do to him!" Clint screamed.

The eyes blazed like flashes of lightning. Terror seized hold of him and Clint wondered what sort of power he was up against alone.

"No man commands that which Galactus seizes! Sense your death, here!" The Herald thrust his hand into the air. Light radiated from the stone and Clint made his choice. Clint pulled an arrow back. He faced his long time friend, terrified he might have to make the ultimate decision. What if Pym was really in there, somewhere? What if it were Tony standing there? Or Cap? Or Natasha? What if they had been holding the stone, proclaiming to rework the cornerstones of life itself?

His thoughts, briefly, drifted back to the Scarlett Witch. He'd taken the job that no one else would. Made the call to save them all and put an arrow through his old friend's skull. He had to do this, Pym or no Pym. Clint released the arrow, burying the head through the creature's wrist. The Herald shrieked. His impaled arm fell, but the light continued to pulse from him. Clint grabbed for the Infinity Gauntlet. Short of removing the Herald's wrist completely, he couldn't think of a way to get the being away from the Stone. He had to give the time gem a better target, a better host.

Clint slipped his hand into the Gauntlet and banished his bow away. He hurled his shoulder into the Herald, thrusting the it against the wall. Clint grabbed the arrow sticking out of him and used it as a hand hold to get the Gauntlet closer. In the blink of an eye, the time gem jumped.

Clint felt the power blast into him like a shot of Thor's lightning. He jolted sideways, hit the floor on his knees, and shook from head to toe. The Gauntlet morphed, its gems rearranging to allow the latest stone in. the golden cuff moved down, digging its way beneath his flesh and fusing to his bones. A rush, like an adrenaline high, pulsed through him in a wave.

Behind him the shrieking Herald morphed too. It began to split down its center, pulling apart with melted strands of human flesh stretching between him. To the left, the form of Hank Pym fell over sideways and lay heaving along the deck. The other half, the creature of Galactus, began to build himself a second half. As Pym sank to the ground, holding his wrist and wondering what happened to him, Clint started standing.

Clint didn't want this. He never wanted to have the weight of the galaxy fall on his shoulders alone. He never wanted to face Thanos with nothing but his infinitesimal ship standing between Thanos and Alfheimr, least of all with a Herald. There was no getting away from it. Barton had the power to stop him, now, and forevermore.

He was forced to choose. Save Alfheimr, or destroy the Herald. His decision was clear. Whether it became the right one, or the wrong one, he might never know.

"Cl—Clint?" Hank moaned, watching Barton stalk passed him with the Infinity Gauntlet a part of his arm.

The archer never answered. He grabbed the airlock door, forced it open with a flick of his hand and strode inside. He never looked back.

"Clint! Clint, stop!"

He could hear the words in the back of his head. To survive, they must die. To proceed, he must succeed. To win, he must decide. He could reshape the worlds with a thought and yet there was only one thing Clint did want to do. He exited the ship, floating out of the airlock and up to the nose of her with nothing on but his normal clothes. The Gauntlet protected him.

The expanse of space waited from him. He embraced its life, sensing every living creature pulsing beneath his fingertips. He felt the power of them coursing through him. Ecstasy, perhaps, to some creatures who desired such power. For him, it was academic, cold, and controlled. This gauntlet would not possess him. He would possess it, for even this brief time.

Hovering in the darkness, Alfheimr revolving at his back and its moon and star circling over his shoulder, Barton's eyes took in the great death swiftly approaching. All at once, he was no longer hovering over the ship, with Hank Pym. His body hurled through the vortex of space time and mystically he appeared on Thanos's throne. The dictator was turned away at first, directing his attack, but shifted his attention very swiftly when the Chitauri and Kree around him shouted.

Clint just wanted to see his face. Witness the cold terror cross Thanos' eyes before he was gone forever. Thanos's purple jaw quivered for a moment as he glanced down to see the power Clint confidently wielded.

"My Gauntlet!" the dictator cried. He recognized Barton, knew the man the universe claimed he was. How the mortal man survived wielding that power, he would never know, but what mattered more was taking the strength away from him.

Clint's voice stopped them all. "I didn't want this," he said, "But you've forced it. Not all of you are guilty. Not all of you want to be here, but you've been slaved into it, like the Southling girl, Loki, and so many others. It's not your fault. I don't want to murder you. But I can't let you survive here anymore."

Thanos jutted his chin, his heavy boots clanged off the stone floor of his floating fortress. If no one was going to get the gauntlet back for him, he was simply going to get it for himself.

"Release my power, boy! I will crush you with—"

Clint lifted the gauntlet, and the stones shone like stars in compliance. Thanos' body caught into the air. The Kree and Chitauri both pushed back, squatting down in their terror.

"You do not know darkness, Thanos. You think you bring it, dwell in it, and create its very essence in others, but you know nothing of the Dark times." Clint pulled the gauntlet too his chest, and Thanos floated to him. He rested only a few inches from the end of Clint's nose. Somewhere in the expanse of space at his back, the Herald had reformed. It was coming to claim him, to steal the power for Galactus himself. Clint had one single focus before letting that fight rage. Barton's voice dropped, a growl, powered by the celestial force shook the entire bridge of Thanos' flagship and sent a ripple into the rest of the fleet.

"I will show you darkness. I will show you fear. And you will never return. This is my choice. My judgement. I give you your life, but that is the only thing you will wish that I had taken from you."

Clint threw his arm out. The entire ship thrust backward, carrying all the occupants along with it. As he hovered in the vastness of space, he watched as the time stone filled with power. He had no other choice. It was Alfhiemr or Thanos. And now, the universe was never going to be the same again.

He had to buy time. Time was all they ever needed. Time to stop Galactus. Time to be together again. Time to be young men, to live with good health, to survive the trials to come. He felt his power over the Gauntlet shaking the longer he forced his will over the time stone. The physical change over took him, but that wasn't all he needed. Clint had to push harder, farther, touch the others in his life that needed it most.

The Herald came at him swinging. A sledge-hammer blow crashed across his back. Clint spun around, meaning to return the attack, but all he could see was the darkness.

The Herald shifted in it. Its entire body had been enveloped in a chameleon skin of stars and darkness. Clint felt the creature clamped down against his arm to claw the Gauntlet away. The archer had to stop him. He switched his focus, bringing the power of the tesseract down on them. Suddenly they were leaping through portals, exploding across star systems, falling from skies and atmospheres as they fought and wrestled like God and Jacob. Barton knew a man could not win this fight. Not when all of his power, energy, and will power had been drained already. He could only watch as that monster stole the very power of the worlds away from him. The last glimpse Clint caught as the Herald banished him into oblivion, was the passing rocky landmark of a moon he knew all too well . . .

* * *

And so end part 2!

All of part 3 is now finished, just working through the edits now. when they are done, I will most likely try to take an afternoon to load ALL of those chapters at once!

Next time: Part 3- WAR


	30. PART 3 BEGINS: Chapter 28

**I Can Hear the Drums**

**Part 3 - WAR-**

Chapter 28

Bruce Banner stood over the world map, shaking his head at the disturbing images. Pepper hovered beside him with Rogers. Neither spoke. There was nothing _to_ say. Fours days had passed since anyone heard from the _Voiya Rose_ and Clint's ship. Sentry ships had been sent into the Alfheimr airspace, only to return empty handed. Not only did it uncover no trace of the men, the very realm itself had simply vanished.

"I don't understand," Pepper whispered again. "What could have happened to them? To all of them?"

"Rocket checked in from someplace near the black hole. He said Clint had the Gauntlet, Pym, and four ships flying after him. They could have been with Galactus, they might not have been, no one knows for sure," Steve said, leaning over the world map. His finger traced what was once the Alfheimr realm. "With the portal Loki created, they should have arrived in Alfheimr airspace instantaneously. The _Voiya Rose _needed fifteen, twenty hours at the least, to make up that distance and, as far as we know, Thanos was there already."

"The planet, everyone on it, Tony's ship, Clint's ship, do you think he destroyed it?" Bruce asked plaintively.

"I don't know. I don't think any of us know."

"We can't just sit here expecting them to turn up one day!" Pepper exclaimed.

Bruce covered his eyes with his hand, trying to formulate a single coherent thought. Ever since the planetary evacuation, he felt himself riding a ragged edge. He'd been stuffed in the back of a Kree ship for months, sent wandering all over the galaxy in his quest to escape. He'd never been the Incredible Hulk for that long a period of time. He was exhausted, run down, and filled with the reality that his best friend, Tony, would likely die before they ever faced Galactus. With Stark in the wind, he wondered to himself whether he'd ever see the man again, if their brief goodbye was the last interaction he might have. Then there was Clint. Bruce hadn't seen him since the attack on Vanaheim. Rocket alluded to a falling out between the archer and the Guardians. Worse than that, was Clint's anger at Loki.

"I don't want to give up on them," Bruce said.

"We aren't giving up on them. We never will. We do need to finish the Bethlehem Star to keep Galactus contained to. Without it, everything we've done, they've done, is useless," Steve replied.

Bruce knew that too, but it still hurt to think about. Tony had entrusted his baby to him. He had to finish it. He wasn't sure how to do it but somehow they were going to be prepared. At first, he had no doubt the others would return with a wide grin, an amazing story, and life would continue onward. As time continued to speed by, he realized how truly wrong he was.

**One Week**

No sign of them. The Elven society, decimated at the loss of their home, floundered in that loss. Their greatest general, their living queen, and every ruling party had been swept from the galaxy in a single, invisible blow. They were lost.

**One Month**

The first month filtered into oblivion. Ships scoured the Nine Realms for Clint, Rinon, Alfheimr, and Thanos. Everything returned empty handed. Settling the displaced Midgardians on Nova Luna was fraught with difficulty. Small wars broke out amongst the people. What heroes Vanaheim could spare, had to be sent to Luna, if only to control the chaos of the populace. Broken under the strain of a fractured leadership, Alfheimr reconsidered their own worth in the scheme at large. Only Fehreh, their former queen, lived to step into the role of ruling body. With her guidance, efforts to survive remained active, much to the dismay of others on the World COuncil who had hoped to fill the void a departing Alfheimr might provide.

**Five Months**

Hope of discovering the lost souls, waned to nothing. The Kree Empire scrambled without Thanos' leadership, and raiding parties broke out over every system. The Shi'ar grew restless in their waiting. Xavier attempted again to reason with them into joining the World Council, only to be repelled at the gates of their capital cities.

Nova Luna fell into disorder. Pepper, desperate to keep some memory of the Avengers that were alive, took the suit Tony had made for her. She was no Iron Man, and never pretended to be. The symbol of seeing that red and gold streak across the alien sky, placated some.

Subterfuge and tensions rippled beneath every party. Disgruntled at their lack of power, the Frost Giants began to vie for a Vanaheim fleet of their own. Their requests were turned down, partly at the testimony of their own kin, Loki, against them. He knew something of their alliance to a certain, absent, Thanos.

**One Year**

Jotunheim defected from the World Council. Disgruntled at their rebuttal for forming a fleet of their own ships, the leader turned against all efforts at preserving galactic boundaries. Musphelheim, ready for war at a moments notice took up arms against the raging frozen world to abide their taste for destruction. The blow of two great nations dropping from the council of planets shook the rest. Some remained out of fear. Would their realm be the next to blink out of existence itself?

The living remnants of Alfheimr worked alongside the dwarvish masons. They made slaves of themselves. Striving day and night, night and day unending, to build, build, build. The excess never stopped. Greater, stronger ships were assembled almost hourly. Those on Svartalfheim, abandoned the deadened land to join their clansmen in Vanaheim.

Deep in the galaxy, Galactus' Heralds began to amass in great numbers. Where once he would have a single supporter, ushering him into the heart of the strongest world like a moth to a flame, now he had thousands. All powered, all given the ability to survive in deep space. The simple creature who possessed Hank Pym, and the one who warred against the Guardians would soon be replaced by thousands of stronger creatures.

**Year Three**

The first strike from Galactus' supporters; a nine hundred of them, swept through the airspace and cut through the ship fleets impossibly fast. The first of three great battles began. Small wars stretched over six galaxies in two solid years. No longer did Galactus' slaves prepare the worlds for his coming force, they conquered for him. Rounding up land, resources, energy, and guided it all through the mouth of the black hole. Planets stolen from their orbits. Ships from flying, moons from spinning. The army of Heralds simply stole them from the galaxy itself, and ushered their treasures down Galactus' mouth. He grew stronger before he ever became free.

The Shi'ar's home world fell under their influence. Without a home, angered and horrified in the same breath, the empire finally set their sights to aligning with the World Council. It came just in time. More firepower, supplies, food, and support was needed to survive until the very end.

The armadas sought to defeat the Heralds, or, at the very least, limit their influence. Day by day, those creatures increased in their power. It seemed that no force in the galaxy could stop them

**Year Five…**

The wall of clocks adorning the Gateway's upper deck, wound down, second by second. The time for Galactus had come. The time they all waited for, approached. The fourth war. The face off against the, now two thousand, Heralds of Galactus himself.

Bruce Banner stood on the deck to the ship, flanked on either side by Thor and Steve. They'd reached this point alone. They'd never seen, nor heard, from the others. For all anyone knew, Rinon and his men were dead. Clint wouldn't be saving them. Most likely, they couldn't even save themselves.

* * *

YE BE WARNED! Part 3 is shorter than parts 1 and 2. also, it will ALL BE POSTED TODAY!


	31. Chapter 29

**I Can Hear The Drums**

Chapter 29

Alfheimr's sun glazed through the trees, putting frosts of light over the leaves that separated the world below, from the skies far above. The forest was not so thick in this part of the realm. The great oaks and hardy cyprus, the kwi kwi and vehla trees parted from each other to dot the landscape in intermittent copses. The land rolled with the underground root system causing rises and hollows. The depressions made perfect shelters for the sprouts of wild flowers. Juniper and rose mixed with the honeysuckle sweet scents drifting across the field. The spot was sheer heaven, which made the presence of the landed star cruiser all the more striking.

It took very little time for the _Voiya Ros_e to find Clint Barton's ship after landing in the palace realm of Lakeheed. Tony, Natasha, and the elves took the smaller jump ship to cross the landscape into the adjoining region of Skydale in order to reach him. The larger vessel simply could not land in that great, mountainous region and it was made obvious Clint would not come to them. Tony tried to raise him on their ship-to-ship communication. He even considered exiting the_ Voiya Rose_ in space and taking his Iron Man suit directly to Clint's location, had he not been persuaded to show a little patience. Something great, powerful, and very deadly had affected the whole of the Nine Realms. It was wise for the group to approach the ship carefully, as a unit, should trouble be waiting there for them.

Clint Barton sat in the grass of a knoll, leaning against a tree which had fallen in the glen. Nearly thirty or forty yards away, the landscape had been dug up. Clods of dirt mounded up in an area roughly the size of a large rectangle. It wasn't hard to make the assumption that something, or someone, had been buried there. His back was to the approaching troop who sought him out. He said nothing, never turned, and simply continued to stare off into the warm sunlight dropping down from the clear blue skies.

A wind kicked up, bowing the tall grains of untamed grass and wild flowers. Clint closed his eyes, and breathed it all in. He wanted to hold onto it. Every scent, scene, and sweet memory.

Tony was the first of them to round the fallen tree, and stand in front of Clint. Iron Man's body shook. His eyes fell on Clint's face, and Tony reeled backward from the shock of it. A hand flew up to his mouth, speechless. Natasha threw herself over the fallen bark. She dared to kneel directly beside her husband. Her jaw clamped tight. She reached, carefully, forward and placed her hand on Clint's knee. Behind them, the elves jogged closer and slowly joined Tony.

Clint, at first, did nothing. He continued to rest, his eyes closed, face turned up to the sky. After a time, he began to speak, and his voice had changed to something strangely different. Younger.

"I didn't want to do it, but he gave me no other choice. Thanos… I was a fool to bring Pym along. Maybe that's what I was always supposed to do. Maybe that decision changed it all, and it's really just my fault. I couldn't let him take this place away from me, though." Clint's eyes opened, and he looked at his companions for the first time. The sight of them stunned him.

Tony had changed considerably. The salt and pepper hair had disappeared. The old rope-burn scars from where he'd been hung years ago, were gone. The furrowed brow, receding hairline, and marks of weather and age had all smoothed over to a face Clint recognized, but hadn't seen in nearly eighteen years.

"You've changed," Clint said, stating the obvious.

"I could say the same about you," Tony whispered. Clint was considerably different. He looked like a young man, fresh from his SHIELD days, new to the Avengers, still impressionable. Tony had seen his own reflection in the mirror, and nearly lost consciousness from the shock. Seeing Clint, the same as him, both young men again, affected him greatly.

"I didn't have a choice," Clint repeated. He looked away from Stark to stare at his wife. Natasha held his hand, scanned his face to understand the meaning behind his cryptic words. The elves had come over now too, and stood marveling at him. Those ancient beings had altered little since he'd last seen them, but nearly twenty years resembled only a few weeks in their eyes.

"Clint . . ." Natasha spoke his name, a question laced in the syllable. "Clint, what did you do?"

"Only what I had to," he told her. "Banner? Tell me, is he with you? He wasn't on Thanos' ship?"

"No, he's with Pepper. The evacuation, he wanted to help manage it." Natasha explained.

Clint leaned forward, dropping his head into his hands. "Oh thank God. Thank God, I thought—I couldn't forgive myself if he was on those ships. If he was trapped back there with Thanos. Tony," his head lifted. "Tony, I swore I must have killed him. I didn't think I could ever face you again!"

That broke him. The fear keeping Tony back, shattered. He came forward and dropped down beside Clint's knee. "Tell us what happened, Clint! We thought we were coming to find this place destroyed! I thought you were going to be dead, that we'd never find you again. I - " Tony swallowed back his words, speaking again in a low whisper. "I thought we'd lost you."

"I couldn't let Thanos take this place," Clint said. "Pym wanted to stop him with the Time Stone. I was careless. I let it drop out of my sight for a minute, and he snatched it right up like he couldn't stop himself. I'm not sure when Pym changed. I suppose maybe he'd been possessed forever, or it might have been in Cross Lake. The creature could have found him along the star lanes like we were. I suppose we will never know." Clint's voice trailed off, the panic in him rising as the images of what he'd seen and done struck through him. "I had to stop Thanos. I didn't see any other way."

Rinon whispered something beneath his breath like an elven prayer. He looked up into the clear Alfheimr skies, willing himself to see all that had transpired, but nothing waited for him. His mind was empty.

"The Herald had the Stone. I used the Gauntlet to get it away from him. I didn't see how else I might accomplish it. I'm not that bright. Not like you, Tony."

Tony's breath stopped in his chest. He grabbed Clint's shoulders in his hands, his fingers digging into the fabric of Clint's jacket. This wasn't possible.

"You should be dead!" Natasha exclaimed.

"I don't know why I'm not. I don't know how it didn't tear me apart. I took the Stones, every one of them, and I brought them right into Thanos' face. I used it on him, the entire armada, and I sent them away."

Tony pulled away slowly. "Sent them away?"

Clint's focus went past the fellow Avenger to look at the cluster of Elves. Rinon, Lirrie, Reylano, Linnor, and Faraday all stiffened.

"I sent him to the Dark Times, to the days when the Dark Elves reigned. The only power I knew that could swallow Thanos up in his own greed and malice. No mercy. No survival. I wanted to drown him in his own hate, and that was the only way I could see it done." Clint seemed completely at peace with the decision he had made. "I sealed his fate."

"Where's the Gauntlet, Clint?" Natasha asked gently.

Clint watched the reaction float along the elves' face as they soaked in the depths of what he'd told them. The Dark Times was the worst in the universe's history. It was the age where Celestials died, where Galactus rose to power, where the Dark Elves ruled with a bloodthirsty lust, and the civilizations fell beneath the weight of them. Thanos may have thought himself a great power in the universe today, but in that age, he would be an insect in the Dark Elf, Malaketh's, path. He would be annihilated; him and his armada.

"I felt so tired after what I did. I couldn't stop them both. Destroy an entire armada and a being as strong as what Galactus sent for me?" Clint shook his head, as if the very thought of it was comical. "I made my choice."

"Galactus has it," Natasha concluded.

"I held him off for as long as I could, tapped into the Tesseract to send me here so he couldn't exactly kill me. I wanted to see the land again. Alfheimr. It's as close as I get to paradise. But he took it, yes."

"Where?"

"Heaven's Keel."

Rinon paled. Neither Tony, nor Natasha, knew the place, and so they let the comment pass by them.

Natasha reached up, placing her hands along the sides of Clint's face. The skin was smooth beneath her fingers, so different from the rugged leather that age turned it to. Though she'd changed little physically, due to the super soldier serum she'd been infused with in her youth, Natasha still knew the difference in herself. She had a new vitality. Scars she'd held for years on end, faded to nothing at all.

"Clint, look at me," she said.

Slowly, his eyes moved to her.

"I don't know what's happened to us, or what's changed, but you aren't leaving my side. OK? Me," she motioned back to the elves. "Rinon. We're staying next to you. The Sarhorn said we could save you. You need to stick with us, understand?"

"No, I don't."

Natasha gave him a strange look.

"It's too late," he said, as if it were the simplest concept in the world to grasp. "Natasha, it's my fault. I used the Gauntlet because of what Pym planned to do. Our time is over."

Rinon approached. "You have sent time backward, Rellya, not forward. Why is it you say this?"

"Because I saw him."

Natasha sat back, pulling her hands against herself. Her blood turned cold in her veins. "You saw _him_?"

Clint nodded. "Galactus. He's already here. His Heralds have called him home."

:(:):(:):

"I could have done it, we would have been free. If he had let me, we might have been saved. Why didn't he stop Galactus? Why didn't he use that power against him? Give the Gauntlet back. One stone, and I may stop it all. Destroy the power against us! Do you hear me?! This is a mistake!"

Tony stood outside the door to Hank Pym's cabin. They'd sealed him into the ship he'd shared with Clint, in the belly of the _Voiya Rose_, to prevent his mania from harming someone, even himself.

Tony had spent the last hour diffusing the ship's electronics, converting it from a living vessel to a prison cell. Hank stood in the pilot's seat, leaning into the forward glass. He shouted at the top of his lungs.

At first, Tony tried to calm him down, but nothing seemed to work on him. He'd lost his senses, but gained his youth back. Hank had never been a young man while Tony knew him. Well into his fifties when Tony first met him at a Stark Industries fundraiser, they didn't start working together until Pym turned sixty. When they last met, Hank had turned a balmy seventy one. The man standing, manic across from him, could be no more than twenty. Tony hardly recognized him. Surely his protégé, Scott Lang, wouldn't know him at all.

"Commander Stark?"

Tony turned, catching sight of the elf named Lirrie.

"Forgive me for the interruption," Lirrie said, leaning over at the waist and slightly to the left. He lifted again, and looked over at Pym. "I am a Blankland elf. I'm not sure whether you have ever met one or not, but we have a unique talent for healing minds and soothing pain. While my talents with the mind are not comparable to other elves, I may still be able to assist him, if you wish it."

"Isn't that were the crazy venomous snake lives? the one that rots off all your flesh? Clint was shot with an arrow laced in that stuff once."

Lirrie inclined again. "The self same place. Thus the need for our talents."

Tony had long ago given up on understanding how exactly elves worked. He simply motioned over his shoulder at the ship. "Go ahead. He can't get any worse."

"I thank you. You are needed above. We are nearing Vanaheim. The first ships have come into view."

Tony nodded. It had been hours since they'd left Alfheimr with Clint and Pym on board. Clint was exhausted, overwhelmed. He'd seen things he couldn't explain, and his human mind tried desperately to rebel against it. He had yet to descend into Pym's mania, but it worried all of them to think he might soon fall apart. Plenty had come out in the time it took to get Clint settled and the _Voiya Rose _moving back to the heart of their fleet. Revelations on all sides, opened old sores and healed over new ones.

Tony stepped away from Lirrie and the ship, and headed for the upper decks. Before he slipped out, he glanced back at the elf and man. Lirrie took a seat on the floor, both legs folded up in front of him. He rested his hands on his knees, and quietly started into an elven song. Tony passed through the door, and started walking up the spiral stairs. His thoughts drifted back to Clint while he walked.

_Natasha sat a cup of tea in Barton's hands as his eyes tried their hardest to focus. He was coming back to them, albeit slowly, after the great ordeal he'd been through. _

_"Cancer?" Barton asked quietly, squeezing the small cup in his hand. _

_Tony nodded against his chest. He sat, legs straddling a stool, a few feet from Barton's bedside as he attempted to explain. "I know I should have—"_

_"Come clean? Told me? Not let me run off with Pete and his gang? Let Loki stab me in the back and sell out Alfheimr? Yeah, that would have been smart. But it doesn't matter." Clint paused, brought the cup to his lips with both hands, not trusting just one to do the job. He finished the entire cup in a single gulp, and passed it back to Natasha. She handed it to Linnor, who refilled it. "Everything we worked to stop, it's already over for us. You just don't know it yet. I do."_

_Tony swallowed the lump in his throat, accepted the tea cup from Linnor, and guided it into his partner's hands. "Clint, I'm sorry."_

_"I don't care." Barton looked up, suddenly very lucid. He smiled, the first true look of his old self, and shrugged. "I'm not an idiot, Tony. You might be smarter than I am. I never graduated grade school, you know, but I'm not stupid either. I knew you were sick. Between the two of us, I was the spy. I could hide my cancer from you, but you can't hide something like that from me. It was cute to watch you try."_

_Tony's eyes narrowed. His head cocked back slightly, he looked over at Natasha, who threw her hands out. Obviously whatever Clint knew, he had not shared with her. _

_Clint smirked, sipped the drink, and winced as the hot liquid slid down his raw throat. "I'm your best friend, Tony, I know. Or I knew. But you're OK now."_

_Tony shook his head, trying to come to terms with it all. "Wait a minute, you knew?"_

_"You stole my drugs. Yes, I knew. I thought you were trying to get high. That's why I made you do the no-drinking pact. Then you agreed, promised to give up a vice; an addiction, like it was nothing. If you got hooked on pain medication, you wouldn't have done that. I made the next best guess. That, and I hacked into your JARVIS body scan. Like I said, I'm not an idiot, Tony." Clint tipped the tea cup toward Linnor. "This could use a shot of Jack Daniels." _

_Stark slowly sank down. Clint told the truth. He was thorough and honest. Tony should have guessed the man would have found out, and why the genius didn't even consider giving Clint that sort of credit, made his heart feel heavy in his chest. This entire time, the universe itself had underestimated Clint Barton. Everyone did so much to protect him, they'd kept the archer from simply surviving for himself as he'd always done. They, in essence, drove him into his own grave._

_"I thought you didn't know."_

_"You not telling me, and me not knowing, are two different things," Clint said. "But you are fine now?"_

_"I . . ." his voice trailed off, thinking. "I think I am. My scars are gone. The ones from that noose that hung me back during our first war against the Kree, and my surgeries after." He turned over his arm, displaying where, at one time, a trail of white fibrous tissue extended from his wrist to his elbow. Banner gave him that scar years ago in a last ditch effort to save the use of Tony's hand, when all else on him had already lost function. _

_"You should be fine." _

_Tony looked up. He sounded so utterly confident. "Clint, did you do this on purpose for me?"_

_The two blue eyes, at one time had been growing darker with age, now were the bright cerulean once more, caught Tony's in a hard glance. "The Avengers need you. I need you. I also needed to be fitter than I was if I'm going to save us. Old Man Barton wasn't good enough."_

_"What about the rest of the universe? Do you think they went back in time too?"_

_Clint shook his head. "After the Herald took the Gauntlet, there's no telling what's happened. I don't know what he did, but it wasn't good. Prepare yourself. What we're going to see, is unlike anything we could have imagined."_

Already, Tony had seen enough. He felt physically better than he had in a decade, and he had Clint to thank for it. He wondered if all the Nine Realms had been affected by the Time Stone rolling everything back, but Clint seemed so sure that it hadn't. After all, the _Voiya Rose_ and modified Quinjet still existed. If they had gone back in time, the ship wouldn't be around, as far as Tony understood quantum theory mechanics.

They attempted to raise someone, anyone, from the Vanaheim surface, only to receive dead airspace in response. The considered the possibility of the Gauntlet interfering with the systems, throwing off gamma radiation or a magnetic resonance frequency which might decimate the communication relays between the Nine Realms. It was all conjecture. He wouldn't know for sure until they arrived. Which, it seemed, they finally had.

Tony stepped onto the bridge authoritatively. Clint and Natasha were there already, surveying the view with a mixture of awe and surprise. Clint angled away slightly to greet him.

"Looks like I win," Clint said.

Tony stood beside him, and looked out and the blue gem of a world. His emotions matched those of the others. Rinon stood stiffly against the large, vertical glass. His jaw was tightly clenched, his hands wringing behind his back.

His entire Alfheimr fleet, millions of ships strong, were gathered in precise formations around the Vanaheim realm. Drifting in time with the distant moons, were no less than forty individual portals, large enough for an entire squadron to fit through simultaneously. They were mere circles of blue light, their inner cores warbling the matrix of stars behind them like rippling water. Loki had indeed been very busy.

The elven armada comprised the first wave only. The second, third, and on to the tenth, belonged to the intermixing of millions more. Shi'ar, Midgard, Asgard, Xandar, Oore, Quivenrell, Nidavellir, and so many more systems for which they had no names, gathered in that endless sea of brute force. Sitting dead center of it all, was the one ship Tony could say for sure he recognized: the Bethlehem Star.

The Bethlehem Star had been his child since the moment the Sarhorn strode into his brain and showed him the plans for it. Now, fully operational and taking flight, she was a beautiful sight to behold. She had a signet-shaped appearance, like a man's college ring. The inner band bulged out with the fourteen decks worth of computerized, digital matrix which gave her life. An eight man crew of suicide fighters could run her relatively easily, but only with the knowledge that only death awaited them the minute they agreed to step onboard. There was no other way to operate her.

The outer ring was, in essence, a massive hadron collider. Eight thousand goliath particles, scooped from the trans-dimensional portals, were infused into the hollow rings. On the "Go" command, four thousand of those particles would shoot out of the right, and then the left, of the central command tower. They would hurl toward one another at the speed of light, slam into a partner, and set off a chain reaction of uncontrollable energy. Paired with Galactus' unique physiology, the fallout of the Goliath particles would simply suck him into their singularity, never to let go. He would be trapped and, if all turned out well, the human crew would be dead. If it went wrong, then the people would, similarly, be trapped in a state of suspense and agony for the untold future.

The ships were preparing for an invasion. Like a swarm of locusts, they shot forward in their squadrons, pouring into the waiting portals for whatever war waited for them in the great beyond.

In the cockpit of the _Voiya Rose_, no one spoke. They watched the ships filter into the portals and out of sight, abandoning the Vanaheim airspace at an incredible pace. A squadron of Midgardian and Alfheimr fighters broke off simultaneously to approach the flagship of the Elven world. A single golden trophy ship followed in their midst. It had all the looks of something created on Asgard.

"Thor," Rinon said. He turned, speaking to Reylano. "Open the lower deck, allow them aboard. We must understand the depths of what we now face."

* * *

awwwww crap...


	32. Chapter 30

**I Can Hear The Drums**

Chapter 30

Thor Odinson scaled the lengths of the _Voiya Rose_ faster than his compatriots could. He burst into the command room and stood, drop jawed, in the doorway. His hands rested on either side of the entry, as if to hold himself up and prevent toppling right over. The battle regalia he wore, was unlike anything they had ever seen. Glints of gold and silver crisscrossed along his arms in a dragon scale pattern. His cape began red, and ended in a deep-space black. His boots, with thicker treads and armored tongues, stretched all the way to his knees. He looked prepared to take on a thousand men, and yet, seeing his friends again had even his might faltering where he stood.

"Odin's beard," the Asgardian whispered.

At his back, a lithe form slipped beneath the others, and launched across the air between the two forming groups. Pepper Potts threw herself at Tony. Two arms, encased in gold and red metal, locked around his neck so tightly he began to choke. The front of her iron suit created a bruise in his chest.

"Oh my God!" she cried out, over and over in shock. "Oh my God! Tony, oh my God!"

At Thor's back, Steve Rogers' head appeared. He laid a hand on Thor's shoulder, as if trying to get him to drift aside, but the Asgardian couldn't move. Steve lowered himself down, and squeezed himself beneath Thor's cape and arm to get in. A line of others followed him.

Fehreh rushed for Rinon. Bruce appeared, paused for many long moments, before rescuing Tony from Pepper's strangle hold. Vision, Sif, Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, Veurr, Odin, Peter Quill, so many flooded the bridge that the room became thick with elation and surprise.

Many furtive glances were cast toward Barton. No one approached him. Natasha reached over and held Clint's fingers in her hand. It was a small, uncommon gesture for her. But somehow, the moment required it. Clint found himself squeezing back. A cold sweat broke out on his brow. He knew the day had come. Somehow, he always knew his time was up.

Bruce extended the olive branch where the others kept themselves restrained. He stepped right up to Clint, and threw his arms around Barton's shoulders. It was a quick, heartfelt moment, and Clint pulled his hand away from Natasha long enough to return the embrace. Bruce removed himself to arm's length, and looked into his eyes.

"We all thought the worst. You've been away for so long, we thought all of you were gone. The ship, Alfheimr . . ." Bruce let his voice trail as he shook his head. "You're so young, Clint."

Clint smiled a little. "You don't look a day over Hulk," Clint replied wittily. It was a private joke. Bruce aged half as much as most humans did due to the gamma radiation he'd been infused with.

Bruce forced a smile. He pulled his hands away, and awkwardly stuffed them into his pants pockets. Clint noticed he wore standard Hulk material. Old sweat pants and a shirt he didn't, like with the expandable suit tucked underneath.

"How did you get back? Where did you come from, I mean? The last thing any of us knew, was this ship went off for Alfheimr, and you were heading straight for Thanos. Quill said you even had the Infinity Gauntlet with you. Then, all of a sudden, nothing. We looked. I looked for two years, and I never - " Bruce looked down, swallowed, and raised his head once more. They could see the struggle in him. He had worked, tirelessly, since the day that part of the Nine Realms blinked out of existence, until this moment. The scientist might have never given up hope that he'd see them again, but he had finally allowed other concerns to thread through him, dragging him back to the heart of their war efforts.

"Long story," Natasha said, "but the Infinity Gauntlet was involved."

"Thanos?" Clint asked.

Bruce shrugged. "A ghost, like all of you. Until now." He added the last part hurriedly, still coming to grips with it.

"Clint?" A small voice called.

The archer turned slightly, and Bruce stepped aside to let Thor through. Clint tried to smile at him, but found the motion difficult. Thor stood beside Bruce the way he'd stood at the door. He hardly knew what to do with himself, or what he might say. Others crowding around began to shift their attention all at once to the Asgardian and the archer. Whereas before, they might not have wanted to face the man, now the dam broke.

"What day is it?" Clint asked him.

Thor's jaw quivered slightly before he ground his teeth together and forced it to stop. He pulled a long, stuttering breath through his nose, and slowly released it. Eventually, he spoke.

"I am staying at your side even if I must lash us together. Nothing Galactus can threaten or destroy may steal either of us apart. I have failed you, as a brother and as a friend. I have allowed the fears of this future to keep me distracted in the ruling of my own people, and I have forgotten the depths of those that matter most to me." Thor was very eloquent when he chose to make a speech, which was generally a rare occurrence. "You will not see your end this day, not when this team has, at last, received you back."

"Thor - " Clint tried to say, but Odin stopped him at once.

"My captain, I lend you," he motioned to Veurr, an old friend of Clint's from the days of the Frost Giant War, and now the leader of Odin's armies directly beneath Thor himself. "My men, and my legions. All you may need."

Clint opened his mouth to object, but before the chance came, Rinon put in his confidence as well. He planned to be at Clint's side personally until the bitter end of the war. This satisfied Odin, who had been through one war at the elf's side already. He knew Rinon's word was law.

Peter Quill moved past Thor and Bruce to grab Clint's hand. He shook it firmly, then dragged Clint against him for an embrace.

"You saved my hide, buddy," he said low enough so the others wouldn't overhear.

"I'm glad you made it," Clint replied, still trying to catch up. Peter pulled away, ducking his head and hiding in the crowd. Clint looked at the room of people. At least three realms and two galaxies were represented here. At his back, the progression of war ships continued to pour steadily into the portals without fail. Already the smallest of them had passed through. Lines upon lines of destroyers and troop transports came next. Behind them, the carriers with the greatest one of all, the Bethlehem Star, at the center.

"It's today, isn't it?" Clint asked them all.

T'Challa looked at Steve. Natasha felt a pang of emotion in her chest looking at them together. She didn't forget Steve's frantic screams into a comm unit as, half a world away, the manic T'Challa took off with him, sealing Clint's death certificate. Her eyes looked to Rinon. Apparently, the elf could see it too.

"Midgard's ships were completed five years ago, a few months after you disappeared." Fehreh, Rinon's chosen love, said. She had been the Queen of Alfheimr once, and for as long as Clint knew her, she'd been a shining star of hope and support. "After they were finished, we did not stop building. The Kree caused some trouble, but worse has been those legions faithful to the monster himself. We finished another two armadas, one for Asgard, and another to retrofit Xandar within the same few years. The Shi'ar at last joined us. Negotiations were long and hard, but successfully won."

Fehreh extended her hand to Pepper, an object of great interest to Natasha, Tony, and Clint. The woman was dressed in her own Iron Man suit, similar to Tony's, but adjusted for her own physique. The floor handed to her, Pepper took up the story, "It took four years to clean the atmosphere, but we did it. The people began returning last year as a pilot program. The rest were supposed to join next week."

"But?" Natasha asked.

"Galactus." Bruce said, matter-of-factly. "He came out of the hole like a bullet train five days ago. The hole expanded, created a singularity and," Bruce's hands extended in front of him. They opened, his fingers spread apart as if he held an orb. "The force of him punching into our plane caused a rift." His fingers pulled apart, expanding until they were on either side of him. Then, he brought them together suddenly. The sound they made on contact, rippled along Clint's bones. "The singularity collapsed. The Hyth Comet shot out of its orbit and scattered the colonies. Galaxy Red and the Dark System collapsed into each other like two colliding eggs. Pieces of them slammed through four systems. There's nothing left. Hyth's Star Vein is gone. The main comet followed Galactus back into the black hole, and literally gave him a handhold to climb out with."

"Billions of worlds, stars, systems," Steve shook his head, thinking of them all. The five days of hard realities were hitting him all at once, "Everyone is dead."

Natasha glanced at the ships. "Where are they going?"

"The Xandarian system," Steve told them. "With three galaxies destroyed, his Heralds have guided him to the closest living world where he might feed. There's an energy source there which appeared literally overnight. We can't track it, but we know it's down there somewhere." He glanced over his shoulder at Tony. "It's Nova Luna."

Clint paled.

The Earth colony in the Xandarian system, Nova Luna was the moon they agreed to evacuate the planet to when the Kree attacked. Tony looked at Pepper. "How many people are still left there?"

"Only half, but it's still billions, Tony. If we don't get them out, then most of Earth's population will be gone."

"Your ship is ready, Tony. I saw to the specifications myself."

"It doesn't require a pilot. Fehreh upgraded it with some elven technology to help it guide itself."

"We need to get Galactus close enough."

"Need to fly him straight through it."

"Leave now."

The conversation spiraled. The world around them took up cues and points, adding interjections to bring the others abreast of what had happened in their absence. The mood was tense, apprehensive, like any room of warriors waiting to break into the field of battle, now with their strongest allies beside them.

Clint tuned all of them out. His heart jackhammered in his chest. Nova Luna. He could have never imagined it. The small moon, hidden in plain sight in a world as far from the black hole as he dared to go. He knew of it from his travels with Quill. Knew the moon was safe because he'd been there before. It was where the Herald had dragged him. Where that great slab of rock, Heaven's Keel, jutted out of the earth.

If Galactus consumed Nova Luna, he would have not only eliminate most of Earth's population, he could use the Tesseract to travel anywhere in the galaxy instantly. Galactus could try and consume the Gauntlet's power, destroying the carefully sealed energy cores, and ripping a hole in the fabric of reality. He could even summon up the evils of their past times and drag them through to the present. With the Gauntlet, he could do anything he wanted. Using it against him never ended well. When he arrived the first time, years before, it was again on the coat tails of Thanos. Thanos tried, and failed, to use the power of the stones against him, only to find Galactus absorbing the power.

"Clint?" Natasha whispered to him.

He locked his knees before they betrayed him by turning into rubber. Still, he felt like the room was beginning to spin in a vortex around him. Angling away from them, he placed his hand on the forward glass to keep upright. Natasha reached out for him.

"Clint?" She whispered again, trying not to draw the alarm of others. She grabbed his free hand, holding it against her and pulled in close to him. "It's there, isn't it?"

Clint's head whipped toward her. How could she possibly know?

"It doesn't matter," she said. "It's going to be all right. We'll get it back. We're doing this together, as a team. That's the only way we can make it through this. You just have to let us. Please, just trust me."

Clint opened his mouth. No words came out.

"We've done enough of this apart. That's the key, that's what's going to stop this: we need to stick together."

Clint wanted to stop her hope before it had a chance to grow, but he knew it was already too late. She'd been convinced, somehow, that there was a way she could still save him. After everything that's happened. After blinking one moment, and awakening to the realization that the entire universe had sprung into the future while they had fallen into their past selves. After all that had uprooted their lives and ripped apart their families, Natasha Romanov, of all people, was being optimistic.

_She's either a fool, or she really does love me,_ Clint thought privately. He leaned to the latter, and rubbed the ring on his finger that symbolized their marriage. For the first time, on the eve of his coming death, she finally gave him her entire heart. She was always a 'better late than never' sort of woman.

Natasha leaned forward, and pressed her lips against his. She liked to flirt, to catch him off guard, and to shock others with the displays of affection. This was not like that. Clint could feel the thread of her pulse as fast as his own. Something dramatic had changed between them, and he couldn't understand what it was. He'd had this once, long ago with his second wife, Marie. A spark, a chemistry uniting two minds. For the brief moment they came together, the entire world slowed to a screeching halt.

And then, it ended.

Natasha pulled away from him. She pushed herself to the center of the room and climbed onto Rinon's throne. Instantly, her act claimed the attention of everyone in the room.

"The Infinity Gauntlet is on Nova Luna! If Galactus gets it, we will lose this war before it starts. Clint knows where it is and will guide us there. Cap, Stark, Rinon's team, Thor, and the Hulk, you all stay here. The rest, spread out to the other command ships. Who is guiding the Bethlehem Star in?"

"It's self-commanded. There are three hundred elven minds surrounding it, each with an influence on her control mechanisms. I don't know how they do it, but they are." Bruce looked at Rinon. "You'd probably understand how it works better than I do."

"Explanation is too difficult for one who cannot see what we see," Rinon replied cryptically.

"Stark, Hulk, and Thor are guiding us in. The rest of the ships, keep Galactus at bay however you can until Clint shows us to the Gauntlet. Then Thor, you are going in after it," Natasha stated.

Thor lifted his hammer, a show of his worthiness, and crossed it over his chest in a salute. He accepted the challenge. The plans were set. Arrangements made. Clint, whether he wanted to or not, ended the impromptu rally with a team of forty close friends and fellow heroes riding beside him into the coming storm cloud of war.

They stood on the bridge beside him, their battle gear on, his quiver laden with what remained of his arrows and elven counterparts. The elves, ready for whatever may come. And those who could not survive in the throes of space, commanded those that could. Blasting over the nose of the ship were Iron Man, Thor, Vision and the Hulk. They brought up the rear of the fleet, sticking close as they entered the portal that would lead them into the heat of war.

Ahead of them, the Bethlehem Star towered, hundreds of stories high. As she was guided through by the hundreds of flanking elven ships, every goliath particle ahead of her clung to the hull. She began to glisten and shimmer as if a coating of diamond dust meters-wide wrapped around her. The ship's design system worked flawlessly, unlike most things created from the dual minds of Bruce Banner and Tony Stark. The plans from the Sarhorn made the trial and error unnecessary.

On, they flew. On through the other side. Onward toward battle, Galactus, and everything they had prepared for.

Onward to life or death

Onward to destiny.


	33. Chapter 31

**I Can Hear the Drums**

Chapter 31

The _Voiya Rose_ and her flanking team of Avengers emerged from the other side of the portal under the protection of the _Bethlehem Star_. The elven fleet fanned out on either side of her, guiding the great signet ship away from the moon's surface, and closer to the great, swallowing darkness beyond them.

Instantly on coming through the portal, a massive force threw the _Voiya Rose_ onto her side. The bridge flipped and righted, tossing the occupants within. Clint hit the forward glass, shoulder first, and scrambled back as something massive collided with the outside.

Thor swept by. He swung his hammer, bringing Mjolnir down into the nose of a Shi'ar ship. The metal buckled, split open, and oozed thick yellow fuel in globs before sinking soundlessly down. Iron Man shot across the viewscreen, firing repulser blasts. A second ship swung around and collided with his chest. It had been thrown like a frisbee by a form Clint knew well.

"Herald!" Clint forced himself up. "Rinon, bring the ship around! He'll tear this thing apart!"

"Hold on!" Reylano cried.

In the distance, one of the Xandarian vessels made a dramatic arc against the moon's magnetic field. It came, sling shot-ing around the red orb directly toward them. The Hulk's mouth opened wide as he used the front of the_ Voiya Rose_ as a springboard to gain momentum. He threw himself into the nose of the encroaching ship, and tore it apart, one panel at a time.

"What's happening? What's wrong with them?!" Natasha asked, watching it all in horror.

Coming through the portal was like stepping into a cafeteria food fight. Only this time, ships, missiles, munitions, repulser fire, metal casings, and even bodies were being flung from one area of open space to another. Friend crashed into friend. Mass destruction ensued. In the ship-to-ship comms, they could overhear the screams and frantic cries of the dead and dying men. Even as they watched and heard the utter chaos around them, a great darkness continued to loom ever closer. This was their first look at the enemy they'd waited so long for.

This was Galactus.

The ancient being had come from the time of Celestials, prior to the fall of the Dark Elves and their expulsion from Alfheimr by Doodle Bygrove seven thousand years ago. Galactus contained an unknown strength, caused by his feeding on planets. It was no surprise he'd been ascribed the title of "World Eater" by great historians throughout the cosmos. Originally, the Celestials had attempted to defeat him, destroying the monster forever. Their attempts were unsuccessful, though they did cause him to be bound for more than five thousand years. Time, though, saw his rise to power again. Seeing him after his consumption of nearly three systems of planets, and innocent lives, none could doubt the fear driving their minds wild. There existed nothing left of space around him, behind him, or surrounding the little Nova Luna moon.

There was only Galactus.

His massive, consuming form was like a storm cloud brewed of volcanic ash and fire. The churning mouth opened wide with toothless jaws, and approached the moon to gobble it down his insatiable gullet.

"We have to get down there! If we don't, this war is over before it starts!" Clint exclaimed.

Rinon nodded, he made a sign to Reylano, directing the decks below them. No sooner had the nose of the ship begun to point for land, than another massive strike slammed home. A warning klaxon sounded. Overhead, jets of air shot downward in thick clouds of white.

"There has been a breach in the hull!" a voice called in the excitement.

Clint looked back at the glass in time to see yet another ship, this one from Xandar, on a collision course with the _Voiya Rose_. Behind the ship, he could still see the form of Galactus' Herald. This one wasn't the same as the one he'd encountered before. This one was new, leaner, with spindly black arms, and a head shaved completely bald. Red eyes, as bright as targeting lasers, zeroed in on Barton as he watched. The Herald's arms lifted, spun. He manipulated his fingers the way Clint remembered the Scarlet Witch once doing. Suddenly, three more ships joined the first Xandarian, one heading on a collision course.

Clint tapped his comm. "The Herald is manipulating the ships' piloting systems! Anything not in elf control, is under his! Everyone focus fire. You've got to take him out!"

"Got it!" Tony answered.

"Avengers, assemble!" Steve rallied.

The attack shifted. Thor and the Hulk both returned to the nose of the elven ship, and pushed her down beneath the incoming projectiles. Six elven ships rocketed by them, one carrying a latched-on Tony, the other with War Machine. The minute they reached the Herald, both detached and went straight for him. Out of danger for now, Thor and the Hulk leaped away. They rallied around the_ Bethlehem Star_, deflecting those who may wish to destroy the one good chance they had of defeating Galactus here and now.

"Everyone out there, converge on the _Star_! They're going to try and take her out of the sky," Clint radioed from his vantage point. A hatch over his head blew. A missile fire from across the field of battle, collided with the top of the _Voiya Rose_ and deepened her nose dive. They were approaching the atmosphere.

"Hulk, get back to the _Rose_! She's crashing!" Steve ordered. He grabbed for one of the jump seats and attempted to drag himself into it. Beside him, he helped Natasha stand and strap in.

A second missile exploded under the bow. The entire crew flew into the air and crashed down against the floor tiles. Somewhere, deep below them, Clint could hear the tearing of metal on metal. He'd heard that sound before, back when the _Milano_ met her end. For him, it had been only days ago since he'd lived that moment. Here, it had been half a decade.

The Hulk roared soundlessly in the vacuum of space. Clint watched the black smoke billowing around him as Thor's hand revved back and slammed down. What he aimed for, was hidden behind the stern of an Asgardian warship.

Beyond him, Tony hovered in space behind the _Bethlehem Star_. War Machine fired his repulsers in time with Iron Man's. They made short work of the incoming projectiles of ship parts and wayward torpedoes. The Hulk leaped off the flat landing platform of an Alfheimr carrier, and nearly made it to the _Rose_ herself, but a throttling Shi'ar cruiser stopped him in his tracks.

Clint's eyes watered as he caught the final glimpses of them. At his back, Steve shouted for them to abandon ship. The atmosphere came rushing at them, and soon they would become little more than a smoldering mass, hurling into the landscape below with no way of stopping. For a while, Clint held off that reality. He just wanted to sit at the glass and watch them, his friends, as the war slowly ripped him away from them. He closed his eyes, sending a silent goodbye to Thor, Rhodey, Tony, and the Incredible Hulk.

"Rellya!"

"Clint!"

Elves and Avengers called for him. They were at the bridge door, forcing it open as the walls began to cave around them. Indeed, it was time to go. Clint abandoned his post. Five other cruisers dropped through the atmosphere at the same time around them. Like flaming meteors, they crashed through the airspace for the landscape stretched out below. Day converted to night as that great shadow above them blotted out the dual suns Nova Luna shared with her mother planet, Xandar.

"What are you doing? Taking in the sights?" Steve asked, trying to put humor into his stressed voice.

Clint snorted as they ran after Reylano and Lirrie toward the lower deck. "Yeah. Figured I'd bust out the umbrella drinks and tequila sunrise if this all goes right."

"Make mine a daiquiri." Natasha might have been ahead of them by five meters, but she could still hear them perfectly. She threw a smile over her shoulder. "This mean you're drinking again?"

"If Tony can save the world up there, then yes, I think that deserves alcohol," Clint replied.

The idea made Steve genuinely smile. Clint, their Clint, was back at last. Maybe it had something to do with his new found youth, or a new found faith in all they had done to this moment.

Steve carried his own bow, the one he'd trained with for the last seven years, on his back. He knew the decision swiftly approached. Every moment they spent crashing to that planet's surface, was another second closer to the Infinity Gauntlet. And Steve was going down into that pit whether Clint liked it or not.

"Hurry!" Lirrie beaconed. The elf's long legs carried him faster than the others. He was stood, propping open a bulkhead as best he could while first Rinon, Fehreh and Reylano squeezed around him. Two pairs of hands appeared to help him. Linnor and Faraday, the elven brothers, had abandoned their posts in the piloting deck in favor of evacuation.

Natasha went through next. She moved aside, sliding down the hangar stairwell to head for the sealed quinjet. There was no way to get aboard without restraining the war-hungry Hank Pym, so she didn't even attempt it. From the outside of the ship, she programmed in an auto-pilot protocol. The minute the hangar opened, the ship would do its best to land him somewhere safely. It was the best she could do for him under the circumstances.

"What about the others?" Steve asked, ducking into the hangar.

"Emergency pods line the ship on either side. They will reach them," Linnor told him. "Get to one, and get out! Quickly, before she destroys us!"

"Laice!" Rinon demanded. He would go down to the flames of Hell itself before he left his beloved dire wolf to crash.

"Sent already!" Faraday told him, "Le'lerame, please! Go!"

The rend in the ship, the one which caused her mad spiral into the bowels of the planet, began to pull the hangar in half. The far wall separated like a cracking egg. Hank's ship listed to one side. The flames of their rapid descent licking over the quinjet's nose.

Within seconds, the entire hanger door tore free. The quinjet was sucked out instantly. Sensing the pressure change and hoping to preserve whatever life it had left aboard, the blast door began to seal shut, despite the elves keeping it open. Fehreh reached out and grabbed the back of Lirrie's tunic, yanking him out of the way before he was crushed under its weight.

Clint was trapped on the other side.

"No!" Steve cried. He threw himself at the door, slamming his fists against it. He could see Clint on the opposite side trying to work the panel. The archer's face was frantic. Steve drove his fist into the glass, expecting it to break, but surprisingly, it held. He shook off his fist, intending to try again, but Clint's hands stopped him. He spoke, forming words that Steve, try as he might, couldn't hear over the explosions of conduits and rush of air escaping the hangar door. Clint tried his comm, but nothing save static arrived. So Clint changed tactics. He began to sign.

~"Keep your promise,"~ Barton told him with a cold, hard stare. ~"You take care of her. Watch out for her. You told me you would."~

"No! Clint, don't say that!" Steve exclaimed. He tried the handle again, it came free under the overwhelming strength of his grip. Clint pounded the glass, and he looked up again.

~"You promised! Remember that!"~ Clint backed away from the door. Steve could see the torn emotions on his face. ~"Tell her I love her. Tell Tony too, and tell him goodbye. I'm not letting them die for me. This is my choice, now. I'm making it."~

Without another word, Clint spun on his heel and ran in the opposite direction. Steve screamed for him. Tried desperately to pull the door apart and find the archer again, but Clint was already gone. Limply, he allowed Lirrie and Linnor to guide him away. There were only a few transports left, and he had to make it to one before the entire ship exploded around him.

Natasha somehow felt Clint might resort to an insane play in order to face his death alone, but she had already anticipated a counter measure. Launching into the hangar bay, she grabbed hold of Rinon, forcing him and his elves toward the nearest remaining ship.

"Hurry and track him down! Follow this!" She grabbed a GPS tracer out of her waistband and shoved it into his hand. "You can find him, save him. That's what the Sarhorn said, you just have to try!"

Without question, Rinon accepted the device. He shot across the wind-whipped hangar, holding on to whatever he could find to prevent from being sucked out the doorway. The ship took a sudden lunge and, bringing up the rear, Fehreh was cast aside. Rinon turned, screaming her name.

Natasha had half-climbed into her own escape pod when she saw it happen. Rinon meant to stop and go after Fehreh again. If he did, he might never make it to the ship, tipping perilously close to the open hull. Linnor, Lirrie, Faraday, and the others had already climbed on board to get the engines moving. Reylano waited for Rinon.

"Go!" Steve shouted. He fought the torrents of wind. Fehreh had been knocked off her feet and was perilously close to the rift making its way across the floor. Using all of his strength, Steve grabbed her under one arm, and dragged them away to safety. "Get to the ship!" Steve shouted again. "Get out of here! I have her!"

Rinon paused, indecisive. Behind him, Reylano tugged at the leader's tunic to get him moving again. Across the hangar, Steve clawed his way to the next closest escape pod, and somehow managed to get himself, and Fehreh, inside. The door sealed shut on them. Fehreh, Rinon's love, was safe.

"Kinme, please!" Reylano begged.

Rinon turned to go with him, Clint's transmitter, firm in his grasp. He was trying it again; tempting fate. Changing visions and nightmares to save a life he could never protect before. He swore to himself that this time was going to be different, this time he was going to succeed. Clint Barton would not meet his end this day!

:(:):(:):

_Smart, Clint, real smart. Yeah, just let everyone who might potentially help you, head off by themselves so you could be the hero guy everyone looks up to...when you're dead! I think this might just be the stupidest thing I've ever done. Nope, takes the cake. This is the stupidest thing I have ever done. _

Clint berated himself as he ran through the abandoned halls of the _Voiya Rose_. He knew some of his way around, enough to locate a ship's layout and locate the next available escape pod.

Along the way, there was one thing he couldn't seem to escape: himself.

He'd struggled, since the day he left Earth, on what might become of him, how he might react, when the time came for him to swan dive into a canyon of desolation. Running out on those who loved him to prevent them from seeing him at his lowest? That didn't exactly line up with part of the plan.

Beggars can't be choosers. He'd made his decision, now he'll have to live with it.

The escape hatch pulled free without incident, and he found himself spiraling away from the flaming Alfheimr flagship. For a time, he simply watched her fall, the glint and gold, the running dire wolves and mouth of the Faralir were all encased in fire.

Other pods shot free. Some made it, spinning wildly through the air, while some could not get far enough from the wreckage raining down from above. After all, the _Voiya Rose_ was not the only falling ship. Hundreds, thousands more, cascaded through the sky, like gleams of rockets. Clint wasn't sure how many Heralds were up in that sky around Nova Luna, but it didn't really matter. If he could just get to the Gauntlet, this might all go away.

The first time he'd held it, Clint could sense the power fusing with his bones. It wanted to destroy him, to rip him apart and make him something entirely evil and new. The death it had been created for, seeped in like a poison flowing through his veins. He wanted it like he craved a drug. It had been a great struggle to hurl the thing away from him the first time. But now, as he approached it again, he could feel his heart pound-pound-pounding like the drums of war.

* * *

OMG OMG OMG OMG...its happening


	34. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

The locals referred to the place as Heaven's Keel. It was a great slab of white rock, jutting forty feet straight into the air before extending parallel to the moon's surface. Peter Quill liked it because he said it reminded him of Pride Rock. That man knew more pop culture than even those who'd spent their entire lives on Earth. When he thought of a place in the galaxy where he might place the Infinity Gauntlet, where it might be safe from prying eyes, trapped in an unpopulated environment and as far from any crevices as possible, the first thing that came to Clint's mind was Heaven's Keel. Apparently, the Herald who stole the Gauntlet had changed all of that.

The escape pod wasn't easy to direct. Clint struggled against its difficult controls. He crashed, more than landed, on that flat expanse of moon sand at the base of Heaven's Keel. The sand was soft enough to protect him from breaking in half, though his door had fastened shut. His boot came down against the lock, forcing it open. The move managed to budge it by only inches. Clint sighed, sat back, and considered the bundle of arrows in his quiver.

He had few options overall. Reylano and Linnor both supplied him with great solid wood shafts and pounded steel tips. As for his trick arrows, he had only five, two exploding tips, an incendiary, and a pair of sonics. Not even a repelling one among them, should he decide to try and get himself out of a sticky situation. It would take the incendiary to melt his way through the lock on the door, and get him out of the spherical prison.

"An escape pod that I now need to escape from. Somehow, why am I not surprised?" Clint asked himself, pulling out the incendiary tip. He unscrewed it from the carbon shaft, and considered just which seam he wanted to insert it against. The wrong spot, and he'd melt a hole through the casing, but remain trapped.

No sooner had Clint begun to search around, than a face threw itself in front of his glass. His heart jumped into his throat, and his body flew backward against the seat. He placed a hand over his heart to steady his breathing.

"Natasha!" he exclaimed.

The Black Widow smirked. "I see how it is. You run off, plan to go it alone, be Mr. Hero. Well, guess what? I don't buy it. And I think you're full of it, too." Her hand disappeared for a moment, and the pod let out a long, low hiss. The front popped open, and she folded her arms.

"How did you even find me?" Clint asked, climbing out.

"I had Tony put a tracer in your pocket earlier. After all the crap we saw Hank doing, we were worried you might do something nuts; like come here on your own." Natasha stepped back to give him space.

"You put a tracker on me?" Clint reached into his back pocket to feel around for it. Sure enough, he found a small device, hardly larger than a button battery. A little red light on its surface, blinked in a steady, silent rhythm. One of his eyebrows lifted incredulously. He dropped it back into the pod.

"Yeah, I did, thank me later for it." Natasha looked over her shoulder at the slab of rock split only a few feet away.

Once, it had been one long piece of natural granite, existing unchanged for thousands of years. Looking at it now, she could see that vision she'd shared with Rinon welling up all around her. The flat slab of rock had shattered in half. Its pointed end, rooted in the ground below. The solid foundation it had formed from, split hundreds of feet straight down. There existed nothing but a small, long crag of opening over the ledge, created by the halved Heaven's Keel.

The weight of the worlds rested on that lonely crest to nowhere. And with Galactus looming just above their heads, coming closer and closer by the minute, Clint couldn't afford to stand there and merely look at the place where he was meant to die.

He must act. Now, before his courage dwindled, and he refused to go.

He slipped his hand into Natasha's for support. For the second time, she did not repel him. He knew it was strange for her. Natasha never shared such blatant support of him in tender moments and embraces. She simply didn't operate on that level. What played with her emotions now, Clint couldn't hope to know.

Clint took his first step to the base of the Keel. Natasha's hand in his, stopped him instantly. Clint turned.

"We're not doing this," she told him, steadfast. "You aren't going in there."

"Natasha, I have to. You know that as well as anyone."

She let go of him. "I know for a fact, you don't."

Clint's expression changed. They didn't have time to argue, none of them did, not when Galactus was going to swallow up this world and anyone left on it. How Natasha was going to get out, he didn't know. He only had one chance to grab the Gauntlet. Adjust maybe time, maybe even space and the dimension itself. _Something_ to make Galactus and all his power disappear once and for all.

"Tasha, what are you talking about?"

"When you were gone, and I was about to leave the _Gateway_ to find Bruce, one of the Sarhorns came to see me. Clint, he said that Rinon could do something, that it was up to me to change what happens here. I know what you're going to do, Rinon showed it to me. He let me watch the entire thing!" She stepped closer to him again, trying to get him to understand her passion. Natasha had always been ready to die for a cause. She'd never been attached to life, or the people in it. Why she was so desperate now to cling onto her existence, came as much of a surprise to her as it was to Clint.

Clint's eyes narrowed. "Tasha, don't - "

"But - "

Clint grabbed her shoulders, holding her steady in his strong hands. His words shook as he spoke. "I am trying my hardest to keep it together. I don't want to do this. I don't want to lose you, Tony, or anyone. Do you understand? I know what Rinon showed you because I saw it too. I know that his visions don't change. That any time he has ever tried to save someone from a death he saw coming, failed. Everyone he wanted to rescue, died."

Natasha's heart plummeted like a falling elevator car. "I - But Clint, I gave him a tracker. The Sarhorn said he could do something. That this . . ."

"I'm sorry. Nat, I love you, you know that. Steve, T'Challa, Rinon, no one is coming for me. But there is something you can do."

She swallowed, trying to shove her fear down deep where it couldn't surface again. Clint was being a bull-headed idiot, and she knew it. If he had subscribed to this fated hand he'd been dealt, then she hadn't. She wouldn't. She refused to believe something so horrible should happen to him simply because he wanted to save the worlds.

Clint pulled her into his arms, his face buried against her neck, and Natasha felt herself dropping into him. "Please, Tasha. Please don't watch."

Natasha's eyes widened. She tried to pull away from him, but couldn't. Clint held her tighter. He wanted to remember everything about her. The thought, sound, scent, feel, all taken in a single fleeting moment. For the second time in her life, she wished that she was living in a dream that soon she'd awake from. Only this time, it was also déjà vu. Where was Rinon? Steve? Everyone?

Hot tears stream down her neck. It took time for Natasha to realize they didn't belong to her. Clint lifted his head, pressing their foreheads together. He breathed heavily, holding back the emotion threatening to tear him apart.

"I don't want to leave. I don't want to go. Why is this so hard? I thought I'd be ready," He whispered against her. Natasha held his chin in her hands, wishing there was some way to control his overwhelming grief.

:(:):(:):

Dust storms spun up in a whirlwind, and twisted across the desolate landscape. Ships simultaneously lifted up into the thinning expanse of air, and crashed like fiery meteors through the atmosphere. Somewhere, in that emptiness of space above them, the warriors of the universe had converged, only to battle one another with the influence of Galactus' otherworldly Heralds. They must be stopped, destroyed, if anyone hoped to survive the coming darkness sweeping over the land.

Steve climbed out of the escape pod with Fehreh at his side. They'd dropped into the center of an earthen evacuation plan. Dozens of portals simultaneously blinked to life, and shut down as quickly as their creator could form them. On the other side of the universe, Loki hurriedly manufactured the guides to safety. His strength and will could only maintain so many openings all at once. Some collapsed as others opened. Some remained as the people scrambled through them. Utter panic erupted around them.

"Rinon! Did you see him fall?" Fehreh asked him in desperation.

"No, they took the ship," Steve told her, spinning around. "I don't see any sign of him. Clint, either."

"They were just behind us!" Fehreh exclaimed in fear. Her hand clung to her chest. She'd lived these near six years without him, imagining that Rinon, her home, and everyone on it had been laid to waste, never to return to. She refused to do the same again.

Steve shook his head, struggling to see above the retreating masses. "I just . . . I don't know."

"Captain!"

Fehreh and Steve both tracked down the voice calling out to them. There, waving above the crowd, was a face they never expected to see. And, in many ways, never wanted to see.

"T'Challa," Steve breathed.

"Great heavens upon us," Fehreh said.

T'Challa pulled up beside them. His forehead was covered in sweat. He panted, exhausted from the run, "I have found us – a ship – we can go. Track down the others."

"You know we can't do that," Steve was utterly firm in his stance. His chin lifted, chest tight. No, there was nothing he did now that would allow him to obey those ancient words.

The Black Panther shook his head. "What other option do you have? We need to get out of here, now, while there is yet time to get to him. Do you fear I will defy you? That I will follow what destiny is left bare for me?" He angled his arm across the chaotic masses to the sole Midgardian ship waiting. It was too large to fit through Loki's portals, so no one had yet attempted to steal it away. "There is my escape…Barton's salvation. If you do not trust me to take it with you, take it yourself and leave me here."

Surprised, Fehreh and Steve exchanged a glance. This was not part of the predictions.

"Is he with you?" Another voice called out to them. The company turned, watching as Loki jutted through one of his own portals and jogged over. He looked frantically from one person to another. "I heard that he has come back, that they had survived Thanos. Is he not with you?"

"Clint landed on the other side of the canyon, we think. He knows where the Gauntlet is. It's here."

Loki's mouth fell open a little. "Here? It's happening here?"

"Not if we can stop it." Steve told him sternly. Breaking away from the group, he headed directly for the transport ship.

:(:):(:):

"Make a path! Get the ship through!" Tony ordered over the comms. "Nothing matters on that planet unless we can get that ship rammed down his throat!"

Standing beside him, James Rhodes threw out his hands and fired a massive repulser blast. It lit up the coming blackness and sent an unmanned vessel spinning into the Herald across from them. The floating figure danced out of the way. Tony sent a follow up blast himself, but still the Herald wiled away from it.

"That guy's impossible to hit!" Rhodey shouted.

"Maybe we're just not throwing something big enough at it. Hulk, I need you to do me a big favor right now, buddy," Tony said. He turned his attention briefly downward toward the moon's surface. The atmosphere turned hazy on its northern pole. The vast mouth of Galactus was sucking it in, starting from the sand, buildings, rocks, and the like. He wasn't close enough to swallow up the entire moon, but it wouldn't be long now unless they moved.

Across the span of outer atmosphere, the Hulk shot off the nose of a Shi'ar vessel, and collided head-on with the Herald. He roared soundlessly in the vacuum of space, and proceeded to pummel the creature into bruised and bleeding parts and pieces. All at once, the confusion of the armadas ended. The mass explosions of friendly fire, the great unending destructions, the horror of friends lost all ended. The fighting force had control once more.

Thor approached Rhodes and Tony both.

"My friends, have you word from our brother's fallen ship?" he asked.

"Nothing yet. We need on be on the ground now," Tony replied.

"My thoughts precisely." Thor looked over at the black mass blotting out the heavens, and his face began to fall. "I think there will be no saving this world we had temporarily called home."

"As long as he sucks in those goliath particles as he goes, I don't care what he does to the moon," Tony said honestly. He blasted forward slightly in the direction of the _Bethlehem Star_ and her elven escort. "Thor, get to the ground. Follow this." Tony chucked him a transceiver. "It's Clint's location. Get to him, get the Gauntlet, stop this. The minute I set off that ship, we'll have five minutes, at most, to get everyone clear."

Thor plucked up the floating device. "Understood." He rushed away instantly.

"Rhodey, get whatever ships are still functioning, and take out the other Heralds before they break us up. My count was twelve-hundred and twenty-four of them. Twenty-three, now that Thor is done tearing that one apart. I need to get to the _Star_."

"Got it!" Rhodes said. He tore off in the opposite direction, collecting Vision and Thor along the way. Tony turned his own attention back in the direction of the _Star_.

He could see the elven ships trying to guide her into position, and at the same time not be swallowed up into the storm cloud of Galactus. It was a hazardous proposition. He had just begun to blast in their direction when a voice cackled over the comm at him. To his utter shock, it was Odin.

"Retreat from your course," The Allfather said. "I will give this creature all the might of Asgard with which to sink his teeth into."

Tony stopped. He watched as five Asgardian transports sailed directly over his head, pushing the Alfheimr fighters out of their path. The new _Milano_ twirled gracefully along their sides as air support. Odin wasn't just slowing Galactus down. He was trapping the_ Bethlehem Star_ in the center of his five-ship squadron. As one mass, they began to dive straight down the throat of the massive, ancient beast.

Not one to waste the sacrifice of another, Tony hurried away, plummeting toward the surface after Thor, who dropped just ahead of him.

:(:):(:):

Rinon and his band of elves dropped from the sky like an injured bird. The ship skittered along the lunar rocks, nearly toppling right through a line of escape ships attempting to exit the atmosphere. The piloting system spent, her internal workings fried, Linnor did what he could to put her down softly. At his back, both Reylano and Rinon waited only for the ship to near the end of its slide before rushing from the cabin to the landing platform. They needed to get out, quickly, and find a new ship for themselves.

"Le'Lareme, esuea mele eh li." _General, they are ending the evacuation,_ Linnor announced, rushing out behind him. He approached the lunar bluff beside Rinon, and watched the ships escaping into the atmosphere. "We must go."

"This is the moment. We must find him. Get to him, swiftly, before it is too late!" Rinon turned swiftly, signaling to the closest hovering ship to drop to the ground for them. It was an elven vessel, and they were just as shocked to see their leader as he surely was to see them.

"Moment? Find him?" Linnor asked, catching up to Rinon's heels.

"Do you not see it? Feel it?" Rinon asked. "We must find the archer. This is the moment his fate is decided. I have given my word that we will prevent this happenstance."

"You seek to change it?" Linnor asked, surprised.

"I will do what I can. Whether I succeed or not, I owe his family that."

The rest of his scout team gathered while the filled evacuation ships joined the others in their escape. He left it to Linnor to catch them up on his plan. He'd kept close to Clint and Natasha both. He'd sworn to the Black Widow, the moment she knew of his gift, that he would try again where in the past he had so often failed. He was going to ride after the two of them, and move the very moon itself if it meant tearing Clint out of death's grip. He owed Barton that, and so much more, for what he had done for the Alfheimr realm he loved.

The last ship swung around toward them and hovered for a moment as it lowered down. Even before it had a chance to drop, Rinon felt the earth shift beneath his feet. A massive quake erupted as the entire slab of stone slid right out from under him. The shouts of the elves at his side, echoed in the canyon swiftly rushing up at them as they fell through the open air and into the darkness down below. His mind had time to think while the ground rose to meet him. Swift, fleeting memories flew through him like pictures on a movie reel.

He hadn't intended to be on Nova Luna at all. Natasha had requested he come. In her desperation for one last saving grace to protect the man she loved, she'd approached Rinon in the night and begged that he take a ship himself to Clint's side. If something should happen, if T'Challa abandoned them along with everyone else, she wanted one last chance to get them away. He was meant to fly in on T'Challa's heels, should the worst occur. Having the planet begin to crumble beneath their feet, never factored into the plan.

The very moon rebelled against him. As the elves above watched in utter horror, their great general and leader, along with his entire company of twelve, tumbled through the cracks and crevices of the lunar surface. Lirrie, Reylano, Linnor, Faraday . . . all dropping through the darkness to the depths down below. One elf was trapped almost at once between the shifting of two great plates. Rinon reached out to grab him, attempting to steal his compatriot back, though he knew at once the elf was already dead. He clawed against the rocks, splitting his fingers open in his utter desperation.

It was over.

Everything was over.

Rinon had failed.

* * *

this is not looking good...


	35. Chapter 33

ye. be. warned.

* * *

Chapter 33

The wind was harsh and hot. It blew a dust storm into a hard fury not half a mile off. The land was utterly flat with the exception of outcroppings and jagged rocks that appeared like spikes through the earth. The capital city of GrnFen was in the very midst of the colossal dust storm and, right now, it was being virtually wiped off the face of the moon.

Clint could see for miles in every direction from where he stood on the broken Keel. He watched as the ships rushed off into the atmosphere, as others disappeared through the shimmering portals that could have only come by Loki's hand.

He wondered what had become of the Frost Giant in the years since they'd been apart. Had he ended on good terms with Gamora? Redeemed his past faults? Fell into old habits once more? His thoughts were a mere distraction from what waited for him below.

Clint stood as close to that edge as he dared. Natasha was at his side, their fingers intertwined as if she might just fall right over the edge with him. She would, he considered, if he let her.

"I can't wait much longer," Clint said, watching as the wind storm swept closer and closer. The cities left behind, shook in the excitement of Galactus' coming. If the force of it could uproot the foundations of cityscapes, there was no doubt it could take the Gauntlet from where it lay below them. Even now, as they stood together, the first bands of that storm hit them. Sand and rocks pelted through the air like miniature projectiles. Clint's clothing billowed up about him, caught in the currents of air. Deep below, the canyon whistled to life.

"Rinon will come." Natasha pressed, staring desperately out into that evacuation.

"Tasha - "

She turned on him. "No. You're not! We have time, we can wait!"

The land beneath them rumbled. Clint and Natasha backed away from the mouth of the crevice as the land began to crumble free.

Natasha cried out. The crevice in Heaven's Keel opened a second time. A perpendicular jagged edge, like a bolt of lightning, stretched out all around them. Clint rushed to her, dragging her out of its grasp, but only succeeded in falling into the crumble of rock himself. Natasha lunged out of the way. She clung to the side of a boulder, and turned just enough to see him struggling at her feet. The minute his hand gripped solid rock, it gave way. He scrambled for a foothold, something to keep himself from being dragged under before he was ready to let go.

The Herald appeared through the clouds of swirling dust and smoke. There existed something very statuesque about the creature. As if she'd once been made of marble, and now assumed the form of a living creature. Three years ago, Clint and Tony had taken off for a vacation together, and when they weren't enjoying the sun and the sand of Cabo San Lucas, they were inside binge-watching Netflix television shows. The Weeping Angels, from one such series, reminded him of that deadly creature hovering over him.

She'd come for The Gauntlet. Their time was up.

"Clint!" Natasha screamed. She grabbed at him, finding a solid hold on his quiver's strap. Her nails dug into it for dear life. "Climb up with me!" she told him, trying with one hand to lift his useless weight.

The earth continued to fall apart around him. The boulder where she found refuge, shifted back and began to roll as if it might, too, fall into the expanding crevice of earth.

"Tasha!"

She held on tighter, her eyes, wide in terror, focused in on his. She couldn't bear to look at that Herald of Galactus.

"We're out of time." Clint said. His look was severe. She'd seen that before. His eyes, the same as it was in that vision she'd shared with the elven leader. It was coming . . .

"No!" She spat stubbornly at him. "No, we're not! If you go, I go! I'm not letting you - "

"Natasha," he said, softly.

Her breathing stopped. Suddenly, the entire world fell away from them. All was silent. She held his gaze, dreading his words.

Above them, the Herald screeched. The sound, grinding against their souls like the horrifying song of a wraith. She swirled into the clouds of dust, and suddenly dove down into the crack of earth.

"I love you." He told her.

He reached up, hit the buckle of his quiver, and suddenly Natasha's hand flew upward with the weightlessness of him falling. The quiver bucked, arrows spewing out and falling down with him. He wasn't ready. His bow wasn't in his hand, the arrows not on the string, nothing was as she had seen before.

But still, Clint fell. She heard him scream. Heard the heavy thud of him hitting bottom and a sickening snap of shattering bones. She screamed his name. Considered letting go of her handholds to fall into the earth beside him, but before she ever got the chance, the fissure around her exploded.

A kaleidoscope of light and energy erupted out of the earth as Clint, somehow, managed to still make that impossible shot. He'd hit the center of the Gauntlet, contacting the Power Stone most likely, with an exploding tip. The Stone responded the only way it knew how.

Natasha yanked herself over the side of the boulder to escape the hail of energy raining all around her. The explosion sent another concussive force, larger than the earthquake, into the very bedrock beneath Heaven's Keel. The two granite slabs, separated at first, now came crashing toward one another. The minute they connected, Natasha knew it was already too late.

:(:):(:):

Thor hit the ground only a few meters away from where the guidance system directed him. He had to search hard beneath the rubble and stone to find the escape pod bearing the source of Clint's ever-present signal. Discovering it empty, brought a wave of cold ice right through his heart.

"Clint of Barton?!" He called into the howl of the eastern winds. The visibility had shot down to hardly anything at all. He felt, rather than saw, the trail of shattered slabs of granite and hewn stone. The large Asgardian pushed his cape back behind his shoulder and moved forward, using his hand as a guide to follow the line of collapsed stone. He nearly jumped out of his armor when he encountered the arm of a woman.

"My friend!" He cried, pulling her toward himself. He shouted above the wind's deafening roar. "Barton? Barton, where is he?!"

Natasha was nearly lifeless. The torrents of oxygen being stolen from the air to feed the encroaching monster, had almost felled her before Thor had a chance to arrive. Despite her weakness, her hand traced down, flowing along the line of granite where two great slabs had collided together. All at once, Thor understood.

He lifted her into his arms and whisked her to the valley floor below. Throwing caution and concern to the wind, Thor thrust his hammer into the pitch-black sky, and summoned lightning from the very belly of the feeding Galactus himself. With a mighty swing, Thor brought Mjolnir down against the broken back of Heaven's Keel.

When one strike was not enough, he did a second, a third, the great stones lit the sky on fire with the force of the thunderer's fury to break into the chasm sealed beneath. Persistent, sheer will paid off and, as Natasha watched groggily from the stretch of valley below, Thor disappeared into the fissure of rock. He was not leaving this place without Clint Barton.

:(:):(:):

"There! See it there! Get this thing moving! We need to reach that hillside before this whole place comes down on us!" Steve ordered from the copilot's chair. Beside him, a trusted T'Challa continued to push the limits of their quinjet model. They could see the tower of lightning erupting just outside the limits of the earthen colony. Thor had focused an attack there, and the only reason they could think as to why, involved none other than the archer himself.

"The Keel. Clint hid the Gauntlet there. Has it been there this whole time? These past six years and no one knew of it?" T'Challa asked.

"I don't know. When time shifted, they just seemed to stop existing. Their ship, Thanos' entire fleet, everything was just gone in the blink of an eye. a Herald took the power from him then, brought it here."

"And our home at least stand." Fehreh added from behind them she threw a poisonous look toward Loki who spread his hands slightly and lowered his head. The former Alfheimr queen paced. "Something has happened. Something is wrong." She pressed in between the two of them, staring at the great wall of thunder and lightning. "I feel a great change has overtaken us.

Steve sensed it too the moment T'Challa offered to stay behind and let the team go on to Clint alone. Thor wasn't supposed to be anywhere near the place Clint fell. What he did there now, was anyone's guess.

T'Challa leaned forward and gazed up into the sky. "We do not have long. Minutes, at the most. We must take them and leave, immediately, before this world falls out from beneath us."

"Do not concern yourself with the time. I will design whatever it is we require." Loki told him, nervously drumming his fingers on the back of Steve's seat. "We may escape this rock with our lives yet."

Fehreh turned to him. "Can you get us closer?"

Loki nodded once. His eyes closed, silent words passed through his lips as he concentrated on the air before them. One minute their ship was flying over the wind swept dunes, the next they were screeching to a halt at the base of Heaven's Keel.

Scores of lightning erupted around the ship, sending a jolt through its engine. The repulsers failed, and the team lurched to one side as they settled into the dunescape. Steve launched out of his seat. There, ahead of them on the dirt, lay Natasha. The captain pushed his way out of the copilot's chair for the door, but Loki cut him off. The outer alarms had been blaring since the moment they left the evacuation zone. If Steve left the ship now, the lack of oxygen might just kill him. It was a risk they couldn't afford.

"I'm not leaving her out there!" Steve yelled in desperation, fighting to get past. Loki, though - who seemed no more able to strangle a rabbit than he could stop Captain America - did just that.

"Let me! I might survive it, but we know you certainly will not!"

A second blast of energy lit the sky. All eyes turned toward the forward glass. Tony had arrived. Screaming across the horizon at mach four, he slammed into the broken back of the colossal rock formation in the very center of Thor's lightning storm. It was now or never.

Forgoing any further argument, Loki dropped the hatch open and fell the six feet into the arid rock of Nova Luna. His long legs spanned the stretch of wasteland between himself and Natasha's limp form. He reached down, grabbed her around the waist, and hauled the human up against his chest. Returning to the hatch, Steve and T'Challa both waited to take her. The hatch sealed a second time, and the Frost Giant turned his eyes toward the broken slab of Heaven's Keel.

:(:):(:):

Quill struggled against the controls of his new Milano, forcing her to bend against his every command. Beside him, Rocket worked at his own control panel. The movements were jerky now that the guidance system had been destroyed, but with a bit of luck, the overwhelming force of the planetary alliance finally seemed to turn the tide of Galactus' army. They'd projected, initially, only sixty Heralds, already an unheard of number for a being who only ever required the service of one.

Flying through the battlefield now, they understood how very little they'd anticipated his strength had amassed to. No less than a thousand, devoted, power-filled followers spread out in the wake of their galaxy-sized monster. The Heralds were an insurmountable force. Some conjured fears, others turned the fleet against itself, still more pieced away at the planet, little by little consuming the souls of those left running. The only way to stop them, to stop all of it, was to guide the Bethlehem Star home.

Quill turned his ship end over end, spiraling over Odin's nose. The Asgardian king had a plan in all this, and though Peter couldn't imagine what that may be, he had to go along with it regardless. He couldn't think about Clint, the mission, the Gauntlet, or anyone else. Even as they spanned the Nova Luna airspace and made their final stand, as far as he could see, Galactus' massive bulk continued to consume stars and planets even light years away. Maybe the Nine Realms were already gone, the way Galaxy Red, Hyth, and the Dark System were. There was no way to know for sure.

"Rocket!" Quill exclaimed.

"Got it! Got it! Swallow this, you sick, Herald witch!" Rocket cut loose with a massive cannon, shredding the creature threatening to hack off the nose of the new Milano. Odin's ship dipped beneath them, and came up swiftly over their port side. Peter glanced across at them, but could see nothing through the blocked cockpit windows.

"Hey, old guy, you sure about this?" Peter radioed over. He had little experience with Thor's father. Mostly the Asgardian liked to poke fun at him, claim how his entire life was 'unworthy' of Valhalla, and kept to himself. Pete never expected to be flying point with him in a recreation of Independence Day.

"They are draining her power. She requires strength to force the collision meant to end this all."

Peter didn't like the sound of that. "Yeah, ok, what exactly do you suggest?"

The line went silent. Pete tapped the dashboard comm, dodged a chunk of space debris, and piloted over to Odin's opposite side. He didn't understand the words Odin spoke next until it was already too late to catch up with him.

"I aim to make Thor a king."

* * *

;_;

yeah. he said it. yeah. Clint did it. Yeah. thor's trying to stop it... OMG


	36. Chapter 34

ye. STILL. be. warned.

* * *

Chapter 34

Tony collided with the shattered slabs of rock, landing like a meteor bulleting through the sky. Stiffly he rose, fighting through the massive energy typhoon Thor sent swirling throughout the sky. He lifted his arms, pressing through the torrents of lightning. The thunder rumbled against him. Bolts of energy drilled holes into the solid rock face on all sides. If one happened to strike him, he might not survive it.

"Stark!"

Tony turned slightly, still struggling to make it to the crag of rock Thor opened into the dark depths below. He could hear the feral screams of monsters surfacing beneath his feet. The very idea of it terrified him. Who could possibly be willing to face that now?

"Loki!" Tony exclaimed in shock, Thor's wayward brother dragged himself over the rocky ledge. His hair whipped around him, coat snapping like a cracked whip in the air.

The ground beneath their feet jumped, throwing them upward. The two grabbed hold of the nearest boulder, and clung together for their very lives. Suddenly, two hands emerged from the lip of the crevice beneath them. One gripped tightly around Mjolnir.

"Grab them!" Tony screamed.

Foregoing their own safety, Loki and Tony launched toward the figure emerging from the dark. It had to have been Thor. He must have found Clint. Nothing would have gotten him out of that hell otherwise!

The arms came up first. A shredded red cape followed, blinding them for a moment as it tore free and disappeared into the storm. More desperate by the second, Tony continued to pull, drag, using all of his strength and Loki's too until at last Thor came up over the edge of darkness.

"St—stand—Stand back!" Thor stuttered. No sooner had he been pulled to safety, than the thunderer dragged himself away from them. He threw his chest into the air, brought his hands together over his head and, with a mighty SLAM! the world around them exploded in white, hot energy. The ground shifted again. The three began to slide along it. Tony knew the crag of rock came closer, and back-pedaled to avoid it. Suddenly, though, he hit something tall, hard, and utterly solid.

Tony opened the palm of his hand, fighting through the shattered glass of his HUD to see clearly. It couldn't be . . . it couldn't be . . .

"What did you do!?" Tony screamed, spinning around wildly to face Thor. The Asgardian was laying on his side, Loki gently trying to support him, as he heaved. His face was obscured in blood and torn flesh. Half of his armor had been shredded off by what appeared to be massive claws.

He hardly breathed. Couldn't, in the little oxygen left for them. Tony slammed his metal fist against the sealed rock. Thor's final strike hadn't opened it. He did nothing to bring Clint back to them. He wasn't down there to find him. He had effectively sealed Clint in, never to be retrieved by anyone.

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO!?" Tony shook all over. He wanted to tear himself out of the suit, to somehow drill a hole into the solid foundation, blow it to kingdom come, and get his brother back. Now he never could. Clint was gone, forever.

Thor grabbed hold of Loki's arm, and directed a shaking, bleeding hand to Stark. If someone didn't grab the man now, he would never leave. They must force him, though Thor had none of the strength to do it alone. With no other choice, low on time and less on patience, Loki had to subdue Tony himself.

Above them, the blacked-out sky was swallowed up in the great mouth of Galactus. Darkness descended down on them, an endless pitch with no beginning and no ending. Death everlasting approached at last to claim every one of them. Waiting in the very heart of it, beaconing that unending evil forward, were the World Council fleets, Odin's ship, and the single hope left in the Bethlehem Star.

The time had come.

The end of it all…or only the beginning.

As Loki muscled the weight of his fallen brother, of the thrashing Tony Stark, and the portal straight to Midgard, he turned his back on the great slabs of rock which would forever entomb the Archer of Midgard. The hollow, dead place found a new name that day. Existing only in legend, it became known as Hawkeye's Keel, the place of the last stand, lost forever down the gullet of Galactus in his final meal.

:(:):(:):

"Quill!" Gamora exclaimed, clinging tightly to the arms of her jump seat.

Peter said nothing, his entire focus remained steadfast on flying, fleeing, and preventing their ship from being sucked into the vortex of ebony and fire-red light swarming all around them. He could feel the heart of his ship falling out from beneath him, his body and soul disconnecting like two halves of his mind cleaving apart. A scream burst from his lips, thrusting the _Milano_ as hard as he dared to escape the force closing in around them.

He'd gotten too close. It wasn't possible to think that they could beat the massive entity that was Galactus. Odin might want to dive down that being's throat, to death and glory, but Peter did not. Live to fight another day, live to try again, fight to survive. It was all any of them could do.

Around him, he watched as the last dregs of the other ships abandoned their small wars against Galactus' followers, and launched after him. Loki's portals to Vanaheim still existed. They may still reach it if the worlds hadn't collapsed already.

Ahead of them, Peter saw a streak of green rage monster hop scotch across an entire line of vessels. The Hulk slammed into the ring of the first portal he could, but didn't pass through. He hovered beside it instead, reaching out into the cluttered airspace, and grabbed everything his hands could reach. Wings, noses, tail sections, it didn't matter. He swung the dead fleet ships around, and threw them one by one into whatever portals were still open.

"Quill," Gamora said again, quieter. He could sense the absolute terror hanging on that single word, the solo syllable. Quill wouldn't make it through on his own, not with the gravitational flux yanking them back toward the insatiable hunger of Galactus.

Peter looked forwards, his eyes seemed to lock, ever briefly, with the Hulk. Even that monster couldn't reach that far through open space and pluck them out of Galactus' jaws.

Behind him, Rocket's guns had stopped firing, Drax grew solemnly quiet, and Groot sprouted a few buds. They'd faced death time and time again. This war would end without them, without half of the population of the universe sent to fight it. They'd lost. They'd failed. This was the end of everything.

Quill had experience with moments like this. Times when his entire life flashed before his eyes, the world changing forever, promises to be a better man if only he might live a little longer, survive another day. This time, that changed. Instead of focusing on his own, small life, his thoughts instantly drifted to Odin Allfather.

"I aim to make Thor a king."

The ship needed a boost of energy. If Thor could command lightning, what did that say of his father? His mind opening, life expanding, eyes dilating, Peter suddenly let go of the yolk completely.

"HOLD ON!" he cried, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

A force drilled them from behind. The Milano temporarily pulled back, like the force before a tsunami, then suddenly they launched forward immeasurably fast. The remaining stars shot by them. It was a mad dash, every ship launching towards the lines of Vanaheim portals all at the same time.

The Hulk struggled to hold onto his position, but he too scraped through with the wing of the jettisoned Milano. Half of the galaxy detonated at their backs. The goliath particles firing all at once in a single, cataclysmic big bang. Two hammer heads slamming together, charged in pure energy, held none of the strength that exploded through all of space. Nova Luna, the portals, whatever ships couldn't ride the wave of energy to safety, all of them were gone. Lost forever to obscurity.

* * *

...

i'm so sorry.


	37. Chapter 35

the last chapter of Part 3

I warned you it was short.

* * *

Chapter 35

Four systems, three galaxies, trillions of lives gone.

Four million ships sent into the chaos, less than half returned.

Fifteen kings. Eighty five leaders. Two thousand generals. A quarter of the estimated population of the galaxy, dead.

The death toll, cataclysmic as it might seem, did not compare to the utter, unending devastation of that first Great War with Galactus. Not only the initial war, but the fallout of the alien virus spread afterward. Despite the loss, the death, the utter horror of all they had suffered, the war was considered won. Galactus had at last, and forever more, been contained in the cataclysmic blackness created in the Goliath particle fallout. A fallout triggered by Odin Allfather, the greatest of the Fifteen Kings

Standing on the concrete lookout in Lakeheed, Alfheimr, Bruce Banner didn't feel that much had been won at all. The elven race had been decimated. Rinon and his entire ruling party were killed. Their queen, beheaded in the first wave. Scarcely one in four returned to their clans again. They were, in the grand scheme, more fortunate than others. Ten thousand Galaxy Red inhabitants remained living, homeless and drifting. The Nova Corps somehow withstood utter devastation, but even Nova Prime fell on the field of battle. He couldn't even think about Earth and all those never to come home again.

Vision, Xavier, Storm, Jean Grey, Hank Pym . . . The list continued to scroll through his memory, sending chills up his spine. Only one thing kept him from tearing his clothes away and disappearing into the Alfheimr forest as the Incredible Hulk, and that was the overwhelming loss closest to him.

Bruce heard a clang of metal on metal, and turned gently to see the procession heading toward him. The party was small, intimate, the way Clint would have wanted it. Alfheimr wanted to honor the man who saved their entire race. In the devastation the shattered World Council now suffered through, Clint's sacrifice became a blip in the greater scheme of the war itself. The only ones standing here now, were the ones who knew him best. The original Avengers. The best of them. The ones who became the family he never had.

Tony tried to stand. He wanted to face the ancient Doodle Bygrove, the oldest elf in the entire realm, and stand strong as Doodle lit the pyre in the center of the Lakeheed Court.

Pride, shame, neither of them held him up enough. He collapsed to his knees, his hands spread in his lap, watching the flames of the symbolic pyre leap into the air. He was lucky to attend at all. Grief, anger, and desperation all churned him into an animalistic force. Coming to from the hearty sock Loki gave him, Tony instantly set onto Thor and attempted to kill him. It took Bruce and Steve both to pry him away. The Asgardian lay, immobilized, in his hospital bed and very close to death. What he found in the dark depths of Nova Luna, they had yet to understand beyond the shredded flesh on his body. Loki attended the ceremony only briefly before returning to Thor's side.

Across from them, Natasha sat, tucked into the carved gold and marble of a vine covered lattice. She'd spoken to no one in the twelve hours since Clint's death. She fell back into herself, becoming cold, emotionless, and empty. Clint leaped in front of her. She'd watched him let her go, and that very image would remain in her mind for the rest of her life. Steve stood by her, vowing to never leave.

Bruce turned away from the faces of his friends and watched the flames instead. He couldn't often feel the Hulk hiding beneath his skin, but that monster sprung to the forefront of his mind now. He'd loved the archer. Somehow, they'd always gotten along, better than even Bruce and Clint had. He never truly understood it, but then again it never mattered. The Hulk wouldn't let the doctor grieve, run off, escape his feelings and thoughts to become that raw…never. The Hulk didn't want to feel it either.

"What are we going to do? What are any of us going to do?"

Bruce turned slightly, watching the emotion and grief fall over the face of the elves. He'd grown to love the race of peculiar, silent beings. Linnor, Lirrie, Rinon, Reylano . . . all of them lost. Their regency, destroyed. Doodle had reached the end of his years. He could not possibly be looked to now. Eyes cast instead to the last, living, former queen. Bruce wondered if Fehreh, stricken in grief, might take up where she once stepped away. He might never know.

It was high time to return home, to Earth, at last.

* * *

drop the mic.

stay tuned for part 4 -Reassembled-


	38. PART 4 BEGINS: Chapter 36

Here it is! The beginning of Part 4: the Final Part!

If you thought the excitement was over? You ain't seen nothing yet!

Special thank you to everyone who has steadily read and reviewed throughout this journey. Today I wrote the FINAL LINES for this story. Over time, revisions will be added, and grammatical errors corrected.

Discordchick: you are among the lucky few who are aware of this chapter

Fury-Natalia: thank you, thank you, thank you, so much for all your steady reviews. They make my heart swell EVERY time I see them in my inbox.

Amy. d. fuller: Oh the things I have in store. You know me, and you know my writing. Now how about we open this with a bang?

IceDragoness1: 2 weeks? all of it? OMG! Holy cow, that is some accomplishment! Well, I welcome you, heartily, to the Hawkeye Initiative fold. This has been my baby ever since the night Avengers came to the theaters in 2012, and I left afterward to eat at Applebees. I wrote Lithium Hawkeye, that night, on a napkin and receipt at the restaurant. I haven't looked back since!

Tanchik: I have a jug of water on my fridge shelf that I cleverly entitle "the tears of my readers". I think after today, you will have quite a different set of emotions to ponder:)

* * *

**I Can Hear the Drums**

_**By: Ezra Cross**_

**Part 4: Reassemble**

_Chapter 36_

Bruce Banner strode into the small medical room with his glasses already pushed up to the top of his head. It felt like ages had passed since he'd been released from the green fist of the Hulk to be himself for a while. In the advent of Clint's death, he supposed it shouldn't surprise him. The big guy didn't handle loss as well as his human counterpart. He preferred to avoid it, allow Bruce to deal with the emotion and spare himself. The doctor wished the feeling could be mutual.

Bruce considered luck must have been on their side. Naivety, a want to ignore the reality of the sacrifices around him, let the doctor cling to those thoughts longer than he should have. He knew the truth, as did every other man standing by Clint's side the day the ball dropped.

Barton saved them. He died to save them, and hardly anyone blinked an eye.

The door to his private medical quarter slid closed, and for a time, Bruce leaned back against it. This place had become his sanctuary in the last two weeks since the war ended. He could escape here, unbothered, save the few, terminal patients he occasionally cared for. They were gone now, and he was alone.

His thoughts drifted back to Clint's funeral. He remembered standing on the concrete lookout in Lakeheed, Alfheimr. He wanted to think of that time as letting go, celebrating the life Clint and so many others led, but he couldn't. All that remained in the hollow of his soul was utter devastation and unrest.

_"What are we going to do? What are any of us going to do?"_

Sighing with the exhaustion settling into his bones, Bruce tried to push that pain deep within himself. He'd lost Clint twice, the first time during the five-year gap the Infinity Gauntlet caused, the second was more obvious. It didn't make it any easier, but it was no worse. His tears were shed already.

For the others, it became something very different to handle. Tony had to be sedated. Only recently did Bruce trust him without the medications. Pepper didn't soothe him. He'd sent her through the first, and last, portal back to Midgard before the interplanetary devices were destroyed once and for all. The object of his hate fell on Thor, on Pym, T'Challa, anyone he leveled his gaze on commanded his unending wrath. Time might not heal this wound he'd suffered. Perhaps, nothing would.

Thor emerged from the horrifying wounds he'd suffered in the dark depths of the shattered stone crevice. They demanded from him every detail. Why had he come out without Barton? Why had he sealed the archer in? What was the insane Asgardian thinking? Why had he taken away their only chance at redeeming Clint?

When Thor was strong enough to answer, he spoke his words very carefully. He sat up in his cot, supported by Veurr, his Asgardian general, and Sif.

_"I would never curse my friends, those I consider my only family, since the death of my father, to the sight I beheld there. Had there been anything left of him beside the rent flesh upon the walls, the shredded armor, his blood spread upon my hands, I might have emerged with something with which to honor. To bury. Believe me when I say, nothing of what he once was, remained. It is a revulsion I must forever carry. That burden will be mine alone."_

Bruce closed his eyes as those words thrummed against him. Nothing left. Nothing but pieces of the archer, thrashed apart and eaten by monsters that nearly tore Thor's leg off at the knee. Bruce had to agree with Thor. That was not the way he wanted to remember Clint. The mental image alone, haunted him.

He considered the closest bed. What he wouldn't give to just jump beneath the covers and not come back out until they'd reached planet Earth again. But, on closer inspection, he realized that he wasn't the first one to consider the small medical bay as their private room. The bed was unmade, unkempt. A trail of clothing led straight inside, starting at a familiar pair of sneakers, and ending in a small pair of jeans. No shirt was in sight.

He looked around the immediate area for the bearer of the belongings, but found himself alone.

"Natasha?" he called.

The bathroom door slid open, and the woman stood against the doorway across from him, her arm draped in front of her stomach. A look of pure ill never left her face.

Bruce's heart plummeted into his boots. "Natasha! What happened?!" He covered the distance to her in only a few strides. He crossed one arm around her waist, and carefully guided her back toward the bed. It had been two weeks since Galactus destroyed their lives forever. The same time it took for the UIC-1 pandemic to sweep through the galaxy before. "You were vaccinated, right? Oh, what am I saying? Super-soldier serum! You can't get sick. What's wrong with you?"

Natasha allowed him to walk her back to bed, where she slipped beneath the covers and dragged the pillow beside her face. "I'm vaccinated," she said.

"Do you realize you aren't wearing any pants?"

"Yeah, I know."

Bruce leaned over, and turned the light on beside the bed to get a better look at her. She seemed pale, exhausted. "OK, give me the list of all of your symptoms. I don't care how remedial they seem to you. First, let me call Strange – "

Natasha grabbed his arm before Bruce could lift from the mattress, and prevented his leaving. Discretion was the name of her game.

"Fine, no consult. Is this why you came to my room?"

She nodded into her pillow.

"Symptoms?"

For that sort of discussion, she decided to look at him. "My back's killing me, I can't eat anything, I'm vomiting, nauseous, I have cramps that I can't even explain, and I feel like crap. I don't _get_ sick. I've _never_ been sick a day in my life. Shot? Yes. Stabbed? Yes. Never sick."

"I know your history, Nat. We've worked together for long enough. Roll onto your back, and let me feel your abdomen. Is Steve all right? Do you know?"

"I don't know, Bruce. I came here."

He nodded, attempting to placate her obviously edgy temper. He didn't want to state his current thought, that somehow everything she experienced now was a direct result of Clint's death. It was possibly the stress of it, watching him plunge to his death, could affect her physique, presenting the current symptoms. Though, with the likelihood of another outbreak of UIC-1, he didn't want to take any chances, either. Despite her vaccination status and her immunity to the pathogenic complex at large, he never wanted to eliminate the possibility of some genetic viral mutation infecting even the most competent heroes.

With his hands, as skilled as the neurosurgeon he'd become, he carefully palpated her organs. Everything north of her waist line, didn't take too kindly to his care, and she proved it by digging a few nails into his arm.

"Are the symptoms constant, or do they come and go?" he asked.

"Come and go. Worse, at certain times of day."

"How many days?"

"I don't know… three? I thought it was just – " she paused, letting Bruce's mind fill in the gap with Clint's name before going on. "but then it went away. It came back, and I thought maybe it was the food. It all tastes strange and smells off. I got sick again today."

Bruce's hands stopped. He considered a differential diagnosis, dismissed it at once, and then on a whim, reconsidered it. For a second time, he let the idea go and tried to focus on the reality of the patient he had before him. Natasha, born roughly in 1923, experimented on by the Soviet-run Red Room Operation, given their version of the super-soldier serum responsible for Steve Rogers' dramatic transformation. A living weapon that, literally, didn't age, fall ill, or as far as they knew, die of natural causes.

"Were you hurt in the evacuation and chose not to share that?"

"No."

"Have you ever had these symptoms before?"

"No."

"What are you taking, medication-wise?"

She shrugged. "I don't know what to take! I can't eat anything. I don't even want to smell anything. Keeping something down in a pill form I think, is out of the question."

"What about tests? Have you done anything already?"

"You're the doctor. I might set my own bones and field-dress bullet wounds, but I'm not exactly handy with my own blood tests!"

Lifting his hands in surrender, Bruce decided to stand and head for his supply desk. His private medical quarter had a grand total of three beds, compared to the much larger facility down a few floors. He was meant to care for those who were comatose, suffering severe brain injuries, or similar death's-door patients. When he designed the suite, he wanted the freedom of being away from the excitement of the triage unit, so the patients he saw could be afforded the quiet and solace they required to either recover or die peacefully. In the smaller, single bed suite just next door, Haladarrel Bywater had crossed the threshold to death. Since unloading the majority of their patients to the other fleet ships, Bruce enjoyed the loneliness. It allowed him a chance to grieve.

He loaded one of the stainless steel trays with a few supplies, and returned to set them beside Natasha's bed. Along the way, he kicked her discarded clothes aside in a pile. He'd see to those after he got the lab tests running.

"What are you thinking?" Natasha asked.

He _harrumphed_ noncommittally, hoping it would be enough to satisfy her curiosity. Pulling her arm from beneath the blanket, he tied a rubber tube across her bicep, and felt for her vein in her arm's crook.

Natasha watched the red liquid shoot into his syringe. "I'm serious. What do you think is wrong with me?"

Bruce filled the first tube, attached a second to the vacu-tainer, and waited for her blood pressure to assist in filling. "Well, let's be honest. If you were normal, I would say you have the flu. Since you aren't, it becomes more complicated. I'm concerned you have UIC-1, but you've never been infected in the past. That means either you got lucky, or this virus is different."

"Different, sounds not good," she said.

"Different isn't good. That's why I asked if Steve felt all right. I'll check on him myself. Discreetly, if you want." Bruce finished with her blood draw, removed the tourniquet, and rolled the tubes between his fingers. "I want you to take your pulse and respiratory rate for the next four minutes while I get this running in the machine. After that," he produced a small cup and set it within her reach. "I want you to pee in that. It'll tell me if your kidneys are concentrating urine. If not, then your back pain could actually be kidney pain. That's also bad."

Natasha held the bandage he taped to her arm. "Some bedside manner, doc. Aren't you supposed to coddle me and make me feel better?"

"Not at 3 in the morning after dragging myself here to pass out. Besides, bedside manner and you, don't mix." He removed the watch from his wrist and passed it to her. "Start timing your heart rate. I'll be back in a bit."

Bruce headed into the adjacent room, not bothering to drag the door shut behind himself. There were some airs he put on for patients. All doctors did. It was their professional attitude. Like a second personality, it masked over his face, filled his speech in kind, blasé tones, and made him laugh a deal too much. Bruce wasn't big on physical contact, but Dr. Banner-the-Neurologist knew well the psychosomatic influence a gentle touch had on the mental wellbeing of a patient. These were things he considered and performed with those he typically treated.

The Avengers, though, were not normal. Tony, for his part, would call bull in an instant if Banner went into doctor mode with him. Natasha, too, didn't trust the Dr. Banner personality. It was too cold, detached, calculating. Given the events of late, cold and calculated seemed preferable to the thinking, feeling, Bruce Banner. Thinking, meant memories. Memories, meant Clint, and that . . . he still hadn't brought himself to face that a second time.

He worked at his bench to get the samples properly separated, inserted, and running in their cascade of machines. Everything he worked with was state-of-the-art. Whether the species he sampled was Earthling, Frost Giant, Xandarian, or other, the machine had the ability to properly code and calculate thousands of true values, and give him exact details on blood group abnormalities. He was positive that Dr. Castillo, a good friend and foremost Earth expert on alien and mutant physiology, would sell her left leg to keep one of the devices.

He felt a presence in the doorway, and turned to see Natasha leaning there. She held out the cup he gave her with the sample inside. With gloves already on his hands, he took it from her, and headed to a second workbench to run the third lab values.

"You should get back in bed. The results only take minutes, but I might be a while assimilating what they mean," he said.

"Assimilating," she mocked, padding in on bare feet. She found a stool and perched on it. Her personality had changed the way Bruce's had. The Natasha which rallied the troops, led them screaming into battle with a plan, a direction, and a steadfast goal at survival, faded to the Black Widow sitting beside him. An assassin didn't have to feel, the same way a doctor didn't have to if he chose it. One day, her wall would crack, and so would his.

"I'm feeling a little better. I threw up again."

"Clint's?" he asked, indicating the shirt she wore.

Natasha looked down at herself and shrugged. "His things are still in our room. What's left of them. No one ever took them out, as long as we've been away. I'm not really sure what to do with them. I wanted something to sleep in, and I just put it on I guess."

"I saved everything," Bruce said, tenderly. He felt it, the chink in his armor almost gave way. Before the emotion had a chance to snatch him up, he returned back to his work. It had been two weeks, and half of that, he spent as the Hulk. The other half, as Bruce. They'd just come from the last World Council summit, arranged their flight plan, evacuated the wounded, and headed for home. He was too busy to feel.

"You do look tired," Natasha said.

Bruce removed the gloves from his hands and deposited them in the trash. He approached and sat across from her. "I think we all are."

"I forget sometimes how long it's been since I've seen you. The real you."

He understood. The Hulk was needed more lately than the intelligence of the doctor he borrowed a body from. "I missed you too."

"I didn't say that."

"But I know you meant that." One of the machines sounded an indicator tone, begging for attention. Bruce sighed, rolled his stool along the floor to see it.

After taking his time to consider the screen, he read the results out loud. "Your white count is elevated. That may be a few things. Stress, illness, or . . . well I guess that's not really possible. Never mind. You're mildly anemic . . ." Another machine chime sounded, and Bruce tapped a few keys to bring the results onto the same screen. He scrutinized the values all at once. "Folate, low. Iron, low. I might run some clotting profiles on this to make sure your coagulation is normal. I'm worried it might not be."

He tapped a few keys on one machine, spun around to another and entered the test requested. Giving it a second thought, he ordered an additional test. "Your basic vitamin and mineral levels are low, so I'm going to check the rest. Have you been eating?"

"A little during the day. Not that it's staying down."

"Blood in your stool?"

She gave him a look. Not receiving her answer right away, Bruce glanced over above the rim of his glasses.

"Look, I'm not asking because I have some perverted curiosity about your bowel movements, Nat. I'm asking because your blood values are telling me you are anemic. That means you are losing blood or not making it. If you are losing it, then where? It's not in your urine, because I already have the results for that."

"No, not that I've noticed," she answered stiffly. Natasha didn't really understand the concept of embarrassment when it wasn't Clint standing beside her, making a fool of himself. She was a private person. Even though Bruce was acting as her doctor, she only had so many things she was willing to share with him.

Bruce typed some more into his data recorder and sent the tests through his machine catalogue. He turned in place and considered what results he still hadn't gone through.

"Dehydration . . . dehydration ... liver values on the low end . . . that's strange. Some of your mineral levels are normal, and others low. As in abnormally low. Your clotting times are a little slow too. You, personally, tend to have higher than normal levels in all of those from the nature of the soldier serum. You are losing ketones in your urine, which means your body is breaking down a good deal of fat. There's also a considerable amount of protein, but no sign of infection." He pulled off his glasses. "You're a mess."

"Gee, thanks."

"No, I'm serious. The screen's negative for UIC-1. Your kidneys are working fine, and even though your liver values are a little off, it's not enough to cause those blood abnormalities. You don't have enough iron or vitamin B, and you are showing signs of stress. What was your heart rate?"

Growing more concerned by the minute, Natasha told him the number she counted. She watched as Bruce factored that into his mental diagnostic database and attempted to describe something, or a host of somethings, that might explain her current ailment. It was difficult to miss the expression on his face that said clearly he had something in mind. She didn't know exactly why he decided to not share his thought. It seemed he warred with himself over it, though.

"Whatever it is, just say it," Natasha demanded.

Broken from his trance, Bruce looked over. "I'm sorry, it's just . . . let me run something else. You go lie down again. I want to take another feel of your abdomen. It's not serious. Deadly, I mean. And I don't think it's a virus either."

Natasha didn't move. She glared the doctor down as he input another series of codes into his diagnostic machine. When he finished, he returned his glasses to the brim of his nose, and offered her his hand.

"It's me, Nat. You can trust me, my judgment, and my diagnosis. Please, humor me for another few minutes, and I think we'll have a real idea of what to do next." Bruce's doctor voice crept up on him whether he liked it or not.

Her distrust, though slightly improved by his assurance, kept her skepticism internalized. She took his direction and returned to the bed. Foregoing palpating through her borrowed shirt, Bruce instead drew the blanket up to cover her lower half, and pulled Clint's shirt up to her breast bone. With her lying exposed beneath him, the doctor's trained eyes made a careful, detailed assessment of her. Nothing particular seemed amiss.

"Enjoying the view?" Natasha asked.

Bruce ignored her. He felt along the rim of her pelvis, where the old scar from a gunshot wound once highlighted her hip bone. It was gone now, just like all of Tony's scars. Bruce watched her face as his hands slid toward her middle, and gently upward by her abdomen. Natasha's earlier discomfort hadn't improved any, regardless that she professed to feeling better. What Bruce thought he might feel, was also appreciably absent. He took the edge of Clint's shirt, and pulled it back down to cover her up again. Her crescent-shaped eyebrow stated the question.

"Let me see the result of that test, and then we'll decide," he told her.

"You didn't find what you thought you would," she assessed.

"It doesn't mean the test is negative," Bruce replied.

"And you knew that. You think something's growing in there."

Natasha sat up. When she wanted to know something, there was no way to stop her. A person hardly had to speak under her careful scrutiny in order to give her the answer she sought out. "That's it, isn't it? You think I have a mass or cancer like Clint or Tony did. You think I might be dying too."

Bruce visibly released the breath he held. Standing, he said. "For once, you didn't read my mind. You _must_ be feeling sick."

Surprised at herself, Natasha swung her feet over the side of the bed. What could she be missing that Bruce so obviously caught onto? Sure she didn't exactly have twenty plus years of licensed and unlicensed medical treatments under her belt by comparison, but that didn't mean she wasn't fairly familiar with the human body. If she didn't have the most common universal virus, then what did she have?

That memory faded into her, the one where, in desperation and fear, she took a handful of pregnancy tests all at once. Pepper had walked in on her and, together, they awaited the results. A Kree warship had descended on them instantly, thrashing the Tower and sending the tests flying. Pepper wanted to wait, hang back, and find at least one in the masses of rubble. Natasha prevented her. She had her answer already. One of the tests had landed near her, close enough to read the lines.

Negative.

Why she ever thought she could have a child, Natasha didn't know. It was a stupid, ridiculous thought. A fantasy brought on by desperation. Clint was dead. She'd only married him to make the man happy. She'd hung her entire life on saving the man, and he was gone. It was time to move on. Bury him on Alfheimr, and learn to forget. Expunge him from every memory as if he had never existed.

In an effort to escape her probing, Bruce retreated next door to babysit his results. Natasha considered following him in, but something held her back. He'd already tried to shake her off twice now. Maybe that meant bad news was on the horizon and he wanted the opportunity to form his thoughts in private before having to face her. What did it matter if she got sick? Everyone died someday.

Poised over the workbench, Bruce glared at the computer monitor with a level of complete shock attempting to overcome his soul. It couldn't be true, could it? Sure all of her symptoms indicated this one result, but seeing that in bold print meant so much more than simple suppositions. Was this reading right? All previous history argued against it. Bruce, for his own peace of mind, wanted more. To get that assurance, he would resort to a test that Natasha might understand immediately the implication of. He had to tread lightly.

Searching around his lab, he attempted to uncover the handheld scanner. It was tucked beneath the corner workbench. It didn't have much use for neurology cases, as the depth penetration failed to pass through skull bones. With the device in hand, he checked the results a fourth time, shook his head in disbelief, and returned to the adjacent room.

Natasha zeroed in on the scanner instantly. "Why do you have that?"

"Natasha, I don't want you to panic."

"I didn't say I was panicking, I want to know why you think you need that to tell me why I have the stomach flu," she said, standing now. He worried she might run for it. Like a cornered mountain lion, she straightened her back, arched her neck and squared off against him. If she had her gun, he had no doubt the weapon would already be cocked, loaded, and facing his forehead.

Holding up the scanner by its handle, Bruce offered his other hand out in supplication. He crossed the room in an arc, closest to the door, as if he might cut off her attempted escape. He had no idea how he was going to explain things to her in a way that would stop her panic. Foregoing any warning, he came straight out with it.

"Natasha, according to your symptoms, the blood work, and the specific test I just ran, twice, you have a very simple diagnosis that I cannot explain. I can tell you what that is right now, or you can let me run this scan on you and confirm it firsthand."

Her shoulder angled a little more, pointing her body sideways as if she was in a duel and meant to make herself a smaller target for him to shoot. With no pants, no shoes, and only Clint's oversized shirt covering her figure, the move lost none of its implications. She could terrify a grown Kree warrior with a simple nod of her head, if she'd so wanted.

"Tell me what's wrong with me," she said.

Bruce gathered his strength, breathed in, and said...

"You're pregnant."

* * *

:D:D:D:D:D:D:D

oh yeah. i did it.

you know how hard it is to tell a negative test result from one line or two after five of them get mixed up in an explosion? apparently pretty hard.

Please review! this ride is no where near over yet!


	39. Chapter 37

Guest: oh yes it was! And now we face this new beginning!

Fury-Natalia: :) probably an easy guess...but. Oh the joy!

tanchik: reactions will be slowly trickling in as we make this final journey together!

discordchick: oh yes, Clint,with TONY's influence has become quite a little tycoon of his own. Natasha is now in control of all those assets. How will this change her? Will it?

5mairer: hahahahaha. Oh, here you go! No inhumans this time around thought!

amy. .9: these next few months to come (Avenger's time) will be frought with chocolate necessary moments!

* * *

Chapter 37

There were many reactions Bruce might have anticipated. Her complete look of blank apathy was not one of them. She blinked, stared at him, the tension released from her shoulders, and she appeared to be relieved. Then again, when a crisis of astronomical proportions came upon her, her natural response was to retreat within a shell of impenetrable emotion from which she would not emerge. After waiting a reasonable time for the news to sink in, Bruce called her name apprehensively. After receiving no immediate response, he repeated it.

Like emerging from a cloud, life returned to her face and she struggled to focus on him. Lifting a finger to indicate the scanner, she asked. "And that will tell you, for sure, if you're right?"

Bruce nodded. He took a few cautionary steps toward her, attempting to determine whether or not she still intended to flee. "It's a three dimensional display system, like the holographic tables we use for image manipulation."

"If something's in there, we'll see it," she restated, simply to be perfectly clear.

"We'll see it," Bruce affirmed.

Her hand dropped beside her thigh, coming in contact with the blanket draped on the bed. She stroked the fabric as a mighty quake rocked throughout her body. It was only once, and quickly she recovered. With her hand gripping the blanket, she asked, "Should I lie back down?"

"Yes, I think that'll work best," Bruce replied, taking another step to her, but this time at an angle. He continued to close in until they were within a few feet, and the doctor set the device down on the tray table.

"Is that why you wanted to feel me again? You thought you might find it?" she asked, making no move to lie down.

"Yes, that's right."

"Why didn't you feel something?"

"It might be too early to do that." He extracted the machine from its case and set it, and the probe, aside.

Natasha looked at it. He couldn't honestly blame her if she decided to go running from the room, only to come back later when she better adjusted to what had been revealed. The fact that she was entertaining such nonsense to begin with, gave him some clues as to why she didn't do just that.

It was possible, but unlikely, that she suspected something like this. New mothers had a strange way of understanding that a change had occurred in their bodies. Be it hormones or something else, she might have guessed that nature changed her. Another possibility was that she had been informed already. Had she spoken with the Sarhorn who healed Clint and Tony both? Bruce could only speculate and wait as Natasha decided whether she was going to subject herself to the next exam or leave.

After a time, she at last released her grip on the blanket and quietly climbed into bed again. Bruce repeated his steps in preserving her modesty.

"You don't need to do that. It's not like I'm shy," Natasha whispered as he dragged the blanket over her again.

Bruce smiled. "If you don't hit me for saying it, then I'll admit you are a good looking woman, Natasha. And I don't need that sort of rise in blood pressure."

She cocked her brow. "Wow, never knew I turned you on."

"Forgive me if I try to be cautious."

"Just say it; I turn you on."

Their eyes met. "If I do, will you promise me not to leave."

"Well, you don't waste any time do you? Profess your love, find me a baby, now you don't want to let me go. I never knew your love was this deep," Natasha said.

"That's right, I have loved you from the moment you appeared in my hut in Calcutta and it has taken until this moment where you've come into my bed in the night for me to realize the depths of my love for you."

For her sake, Bruce continued to play along. He knew this diversionary tactic of hers, though it did bring him a degree of pain to pretend. His long time love, Betty Ross, had finally moved on in the years Bruce had spent on the war effort. She was married to a famous Japanese scientist, Hiro Kayusaga. Banner supposed he never wanted the woman to wait on him to get his life together, and already she had waited for over a decade. Part of him tried to be happy for her. Helping Natasha now, the sentiment of new life, something he could never experience and thought she could not either, brought about a churning of emotions he was not yet prepared to handle. So, down his disappointment and depression went. Pressed into the depths of his mind, only to reemerge and deal with when the Hulk returned next.

He lifted the probe, unfurled it, laid it across her exposed skin like one might situate a belt and, with it in place, he set to calibrating the finer mechanics. His back was to her as he slid onto a part of the bed and began searching.

Bruce threw a look over his shoulder to see how she held up under the pressure of what he was doing. The upper portion of his body blocked the holographic image, even though there was nothing to see just yet. The seriousness returned to his voice as he asked, "If I find something, do you want to see it?"

"I- I'm really not sure," she replied.

Bruce returned his attention to the three dimensional rendering again. "I know it's all a shock, and I understand that. I'm not going to blame you or judge you if you decide not to look."

With one hand, he adjusted the scanner on her flesh. All at once the room erupted in the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of a characteristic, if unexpected, noise. Natasha sat up in surprise, and the sound disappeared almost at once.

"I'm sorry, that was my fault, I haven't used this thing in forever, and certainly not for this. The sound relay was on," Bruce apologized, flicking a switch.

"Was that what I think it was?" she demanded.

Bruce shifted, angling his right shoulder down so he might see the expression on her face. Excitement, fear, joy, shock, there were no words enough to describe the jumbled mass of what she felt in those fleeting seconds.

"Natasha, that was a heartbeat, yes. And it wasn't yours," Bruce confirmed.

Her hand reached out to grasp his bicep. She swallowed a lump of emotion choking her throat. "Ca—can you see something?"

Very slowly, Bruce nodded his chin. "Yes, I can."

The grip on his arm tightened. She pulled him back toward her and slightly to the left, so the hovering image of the display could be within her view. There, above the reflective white light and mirrors of the display screen, grains of golden light coalesced in sweeps and circles. The edges were fuzzy, like the sides of an out of focus picture. The image wasn't quite centered, and yet the peculiar granules of corn silk light still gathered in a distinguishable bean-shaped mass. Two peculiar nubs comprised either end of the form. As small and little as the little alien seemed, Natasha felt at once the depth of what hovered there. The gold light blinked, expanded, and contracted rapidly with every little beat of the growing child's heart.

Bruce never turned away from her, gauging every second what she might do now that the reality lay undeniably in front of her. Would she be terrified? React violently? Scream? Cry? Be filled with joy? Love? Heartbreak? This child wasn't just a piece of her, it was also a piece of Clint Barton, the man she loved, the man who would never be coming back. A child meant being tied down, responsibility, and an entire change to her life. Whatever future she may have foreseen, might alter dramatically if she decided to become a single mother.

"Natasha, I want to know if you are – "

"That's what he meant, isn't it?" she whispered, uncurling her fingers from where they'd forced bruises into Bruce's skin.

"That's what who meant?" Bruce asked.

"Clint lives if I live. By saving me, he's saving himself. That I had a chance to save him." Natasha reached over and took the display from Bruce's hands. She laid back against the mattress with it resting on her chest. The barely formed child within gazing blindly into his golden vortex.

So the Sarhorn had spoken to her, Bruce considered. By fighting so hard, Natasha thought to save the man himself, not the future child he might have.

"He's so small," she whispered.

"It's possible when Clint used the Gauntlet to turn back time, it affected the baby. I couldn't have imagined this, Natasha. When the test showed positive-"

"You?! What about me?! I can't have a baby!" That panic he'd long waited to rear its ugly head, came out at last. "I just...I can't. There are things wrong with me. What if the soldier serum does something to it? What if it deforms? Gets stuck somewhere it shouldn't? What if it only lives so long and that's it, and it dies? What if I lose it? What if I do too much? I'm not a mother! I don't even know my own mother! I can't do this! Bruce, I can't – "

Bruce took the monitors away and slid them to the floor beside her clothes. He leaned down and grabbed her shoulders, trying to offer soothing reassurances where surely Clint himself wished he could have. "Hey! Stop that right now! You are going to be fine, and the baby is too! You have to stay positive."

"I didn't ask for this! What do I do with this?!"

"We'll figure something out. We have plenty of time to do that. You're in your first trimester. There are three to go through."

"I didn't even know that!" She exclaimed, shoving his hands away so she could sit up. She began to inhale swift, choking breaths. Recognizing the potential hyperventilation, Bruce searched around for anything he might find to calm her down again. He rushed across the room to grab a sick bag, ran his way back and shook it open with one hand. He directed the bag over her mouth, where Natasha took over inhaling and exhaling into it.

"I'm panicking, Bruce, now I am panicking."

"I know, and you need to stop it. Stress is not your friend anymore. In fact, it never was, but especially not now. Take deep breaths."

"I can't breathe!"

"You are talking, which means you can breathe. So breathe, and calm down. Let's do some exercises together."

"No! I'm pregnant, not giving birth!" Natasha yanked the bag away to exclaim. Then, all at once she stopped to realize what she'd said. "Oh. My. God. I'm going to give birth to something." Two horrified emeralds pierced Bruce like laser shards.

"Again, cross that bridge when it comes," he told her earnestly. "Honestly, we should focus on one thing at a time, and right now, I think that is getting you to calm down and to think rationally again. I'm not doubting that all this is a little much to take in, but please… Maybe breathe?"

After considering that proposition for a moment, Natasha came to a different emotion entirely. Bruce thanked his quick reflexes when a flying sucker punch sailed for the side of his face. In a fit of hormone-driven rage, Natasha lashed out like a hellcat at him with all those words Bruce remembered hearing during his OBGYN rotation at Princeton Med years before.

Only, he wasn't the expectant father left at the other end of a wife's labor-induced fury. He struggled to remind himself that Natasha didn't exactly mean all the horrible things she hurled at him like a late night truck driver stuck in commuter traffic. Like a pro, he rode out her disgust, waiting for the third stage of shock to settle in.

:(:):(:):

"I'm sorry I punched you."

"Eh gnow oo are."

"Twice."

"Eh heh."

"I've never cried like that. I don't know what came over me. All of a sudden, I just couldn't stop myself. I cried when I lost him, but not like that. Has your nose stopped bleeding?"

"Gnot 'et."

"Can I see it?"

"On-lee ef yoo 'romess gnot too masssh et again."

"I promise."

Bruce pulled his fingers away from the two wads of cotton he'd stuffed up his nostrils. Natasha had made sudden impact with the heel of her hand not moments after he'd blocked her first punch. It took a considerable deal of control to prevent himself from Hulk-ing out and lending unneeded attention to his medical wing. Natasha winced as she inspected her damage to him. The rims beneath his eyes were already turning purple and black with the diffusion of his bruise.

"Oh… I'm so sorry about that."

"Eh gnow. Es fine." Gently he withdrew the rolls of cotton and carefully scrunched his face. More normally, he said, "I don't blame you for a little reaction."

"Can I be honest and say that a part of me actually wanted to rip your face off?"

"That is gross and disturbing, but not unexpected. So thanks, I guess, for not doing that. Hormonal changes are very common, and they will result in mood swings. I anticipate, though, that the surprise of this announcement aided the scope of your reaction. If not, I'd hate to be on the receiving end every time that emotion occurs in the future."

She nodded a little sheepishly. Bruce stood from his stool and pulled off his glasses. The left glass had a spider web of cracks from the assault. Folding up their arms, he set them down on the end table, lucky that she hadn't managed to damage them. He unbuttoned his plaid over shirt, draped it over the edge of his stool, and slipped out of his shoes.

"What are you doing?" Natasha asked, unsure of him.

"Nat, I have been awake for forty-eight hours. I was coming here to finally get some sleep, and then I found you instead. Now, after using all the diagnostic prowess I have exercised in the area of obstetric medicine since my days in medical school, and after finding out that one of my best friends, who is dead, has a healthy looking baby on the way, I find that I am completely exhausted. Not to even mention the fact that my nose is most likely busted. So, if you wouldn't mind, I am going to get in this bed," he crossed to the other side of Natasha's cot with a blanket he pulled off one of the other beds, and climbed in beside her. "and I am going to go to sleep."

"Not in this bed!" she exclaimed, leaning away from him. "What the hell? Get your own bunk!"

"This is my own bunk," he replied, yanking the covers up to his shoulders. "And you haven't slept well, alone, since he died. I think the both of us deserve a good night sleep, don't you?" For now he left out his own need, his desire for closeness to a friend, any friend. Bruce had only loved two people in his life. One was dead, the other completely unattainable now. It wasn't until that moment, he ever compared himself to Steve Rogers.

Natasha's mouth dropped open, and she looked around the room as if she might contradict him but, finding no excuse, she remained where she was instead. She could have just as easily picked another bed and let him have the more comfortable cot, but she didn't want to do that either.

Within a few moments of his head touching the pillow, Bruce drifted off to sleep, leaving Natasha alone in the dark with her thoughts. Bruce was right, even if she'd rather not admit it. She had gotten used to sleeping with a man in her bed. It was one of those things she occasionally considered, but dismissed just as readily. Dwelling on thoughts like that surely attempted to bring her only pain, an emotion she avoided at all costs.

She rolled onto her side, lying back-to-back with the doctor. From this position, she noticed the discarded monitor left on the floor beside her clothing. Listening for a moment, she determined Bruce hadn't woken up, so she reached around and pick up the device. She pulled her own blanket up to her chin, and tucked the probe between her belly and her arm. It took her only a minute or two to find the calibration switches and adjust both them, and the probe position, until the miniature form reappeared in the air.

She tilted the device, searching for the heart-rate toggle Bruce switched off. After first lowering the volume, she toggled the switch on again and lay there, watching the little form floating in the air. The steady whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, of new life pulsed around her.

This was a part of her, and this was a part of him. This little being who appeared so suddenly in her life, had changed absolutely everything about her in a matter of half an hour. She struggled to feel something more than the apathetic concern that originally overwhelmed her. This little life had the power to change her from that cold, emotionless assassin, to something Clint had always wanted in life. A wife, a mother to his child. Though he refused to say those things to her, she knew the truth. He'd never found that same joy he had before when he found out he was going to be a father. She tried to be everything he ever wanted, but that one simple truth would separate them forever.

Natasha was no mother. She'd never even been around kids beside that brief period when Clint had his own. She'd been away on a mission the entire length of Marie's pregnancy. She never knew her own mother. Pepper, probably the closest female friend Natasha had, decided not to have kids right away. So far, that translated to never. Then again, Tony and she had been engaged for about as long as Tony had been an Avenger. At that, Clint forced him into it, and Thor did all the leg work on the proposal itself.

Natasha watched the little life's heart pound away in time with her own.

Clint, what am I going to do now? She wondered.

* * *

Poor Bruce ! Betty finds a new man and Natasha slams her hand into her nose.

What is Natasha going to do? Better yet, WHAT IS TONY GOING TO DO?

so much excitement, so many things yet to come!


	40. Chapter 38

So, Thanks to one fan, you are getting this today also. HOWEVER! be warned. hehehehehehheheehehehe

Ms. Hawkeye: It seems like he really has met the end of his story. but you are correct. if there is anyone that can pull off a return, it is me. Though that may not be the case now. He has had such a great run. I can heartily admit there will be no "Brutasha"

discordchick: Poor Bruce. He's just losing everyone. Who is to know what the Sarhorn meant? The sadness is truly too much to contain.

5mairer: ohhhh, ohh yes.

Fury-Natalia: Do not be concerned! And as to what the baby will be...well...

* * *

Chapter 38

The room had an unnatural feeling of cold lifelessness. Despite the fact that nothing had changed, and all the things he kept were still in place, Natasha felt the complete emptiness of Clint's absence like a heavy weight every time she entered the sleeping quarters. Clint may have had little to nothing left in his name since the wall blew out, on that first attack from the Kree technically six years ago, but he still managed to get his clothes tossed all over the place in haphazard, lived in heaps. She didn't have the heart to clean them up. Apparently, neither did any of his other friends.

A knock came to the door jam. She lifted her head to watch as the door slid open and Steve's body blocked out the hall light, for once he'd changed out of his uniform. It wasn't often these days she found him in plainclothes.

"The red white and blues in the washer?" she asked emotionlessly, setting down the photo she hadn't realized she picked up. Pepper had given it to her. A picture of Clint as a young man, sitting on a park bench staring off into the distance at something undetermined.

"I heard you were in the infirmary, are you all right?" he asked.

"News sure travels fast around here."

"Tasha?"

The peculiarity of his tone had her turning toward him quizzically. "What are you doing here Steve?"

"I was worried about you." He took a few steps inside and stood across from her. He seemed as if part of him wanted to take her in his arms, but that rallied against the honorable man within. The result was an awkward standing in the middle of her room.

"Your concern is misplaced. I'm fine." She strode forward and moved to cross around him and head out the door.

Before she could pass, he caught her elbow in his hand. The grip wasn't strong or threatening, but it did make her stop.

"If something was wrong, you'd tell me, right?" he asked.

Yanking her arm out of his she spat into his face, "What would it matter to you?!"

"I don't know, maybe I'm worried about you as a member of this team? Maybe it's because I loved you once and something like that doesn't just disappear overnight?" Before Natasha could find a reason to slam her palm across the side of his face, he quickly added, "You didn't just lose him, Tasha, all of us did. I know you grieve in your own way, but I'm telling you, as a friend, if you need to talk to someone don't think you can't come to me. Clint asked—" Torn, hurt, he paused and forced himself to let go. The captain shuddered, attempting to regain control of himself. Natasha prickled at the sight of him. She'd never seen Steve this affected.

He moved toward the old picture. A small smile forced itself to his face and he lifted the frame up in his hands. "I remember this. We were walking Arrow through Central Park. There was this kid, someone Clint knew. I guess he knew a lot of people. Anyway, the boy was deaf and he brought his dog to the park for Clint to see. The boy wanted to show off all the new tricks he taught his dog. Just like Clint taught Arrow."

Steve looked at the photo a little while longer and slowly returned it to the place on a shelf. "For us, the ones left behind, Clint, Tony, you, the entire Alfheimr realm was missing for five years. We never thought any of you were coming back. I'll admit I lost hope. Clint asked me to take care of you. Look out for you. He thought you might run off, go it alone, try to abandon everyone and heal yourself. He wanted me to make sure you didn't lose yourself." Steve looked back at her. "Look, Nat, I found someone. Someone I think I even love if they'd ever accept it. I am still going to hold up my promise to Clint. That's all I really wanted to say."

Though she wanted to be mad at him over his blatant attempt at trying to get into her head, a temporary wave of uncharacteristic forgiveness, and dare say jealousy, came over her. Who had possibly stolen the heart of Captain America himself? It was better for everyone that he had, but that never interfered with his gentleman's mindset. Once he gave his word, he kept it. Everyone knew that.

Full of new thoughts, too confused to stay in his presence any longer, Natasha turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, leaving Steve to his own grief surrounded by abandoned clothing, arrows, and Clint's other treasures.

:(:):(:):

The halls of the Gateway were built like the bulkheads of a navy sub, low, close hallways lead throughout the ship to various larger corridors, open assembly rooms, or smaller quarters. Most of the crew cabin comprised the starboard half of the ship and extended upward from the cargo and docking bay for three floors. Natasha's room was on the uppermost floor, just below where the cockpit and mission briefing room took up the entire first level. She dropped down the staircase one level and rapped her knuckles on Tony's door. When no one answered, she tried the lock. It was engaged, typically a sign that Stark wasn't to be found inside.

She glanced around, trying to decide where he would head next if he wasn't to be found in his room. Picking the map room, she took another flight of stairs downward, crossed the middle of the ship's interior and headed for the bow. She ducked through two doorways before arriving at the bulkhead that lead to the map room. This time she forewent the cordiality of knocking and walked right inside.

"Private party. Get out!" Tony shouted the minute she entered.

"What, I'm not invited?"

"Not unless you plan on lecturing me on sobriety. I mean, _not_ lecturing me, whatever."

He was sitting behind a steel table which had been bolted to the floor to prevent its moving about during rough skies. The touch-sensitive screens around them were dancing in the glow of a thousand stars, half a dozen galaxies, and a billion worlds, their labels swung randomly with the spin of the worlds' axis. Tony basked in their purple, red, black, and white hues, framed by a background of an expanded Milkyway. He was drinking, unsurprisingly. He'd virtually given up the stuff. It wasn't hard to imagine that a loss the weight of Clint's would drive him back into a bottle.

"Someone we know wouldn't be happy about this," she said, sitting across from him.

"Barton's dead. And he wouldn't be surprised. Drink up. I'm only an alcoholic if I'm drinking alone. I have a brand new liver to destroy and fifteen extra years on my life to do it." Tony poured himself another tall glass of Bourbon and slid it across the table to her. He kept the bottle on the bench seat beside him and out of her reach.

"Pretty sure that's not how redemption works." She took the glass and raised it to her lips. All at once, she realized her mistake and hurriedly dropped it back to the table before tasting it. Babies and booze did not mix. This was going to be harder than she thought.

"Sorry it's not vodka. It's hard to fabricate the taste and alcohol content from the sparse items I have at my disposal in the infirmary."

"Well this can't be tolerated," she replied, pushing the glass away.

Tony sighed, retrieving it for himself and taking another long drink. "So what's new with you? Come to share in my misery? Or plan T'Challa's future funeral? Maybe I should consider poisoning Thor or jettisoning him into outer space. I hear Galaxy Red is beautiful this time of year."

Natasha leaned her chin on her palm. She didn't miss that fact that Tony's calculations on just such an intergalactic ejection swirled to their right over. Beside his plans were the remnants of the shattered Galaxy Red. If either of the targets in his crosshairs happened to appear now, she had no doubt in her mind he would do exactly as he stated. It was a good thing both were sent to a separate ship bound for Earth.

"I know you think you mean that, but try to remain somewhat rational."

Unexpectedly, Tony lifted the glass and threw it across the room, narrowly avoiding the side of her face. The splash back of the exploding shards hit her shirt. Three of the black glass screens shattered.

"Rational?!" He screamed. "We knew it was coming! He wasn't supposed to be anywhere near it! T'Challa's the one who put all that weight on the 20 predictions of the Sarhorn and he's screwed us all on that! It's not like this was some surprise. It's not like we had no idea. Cap should have been there instead of Clint. T'Challa should have done his job and stayed the hell by him! What was Pym even thinking? You know what, we'll never know 'cause the guy's ship exploded in orbit! Every single plan blew up in our faces. Don't even get me the Hell started on Peter Quill." He picked up his fist and slammed it into Galaxy Red. "For once I help make a plan and _I stuck to it_. I held up my end because I thought that there were people I could rely on to hold up there's. I was wrong. Does that make you happy to hear it? I was wrong!"

Tony's fist split open under the fury of his second punch. Apparently it wasn't the first time he'd done it. His left hand was already bleeding similar to his right. She wondered how long he'd been sitting in here alone, with nothing but his thoughts and calculations to comfort him. Then again, comfort wasn't exactly the right word. Given much more time to stew alone, the genius was likely to finish his descent into a total nervous breakdown.

"You aren't allowed to freak out if I'm not allowed too. That isn't fair, Tony, and if you don't stop it I might just smack the ever living—" Natasha had to bite her own tongue to prevent finishing her statement. She surprised herself in avoiding the taste of blood, given how hard she chomped.

The rare display gave Tony some pause. "I think that's the meanest thing you've ever said to me."

"I've said much worse things to you. Just not lately. Now will you please shut up and stop drinking because I have something very important to tell you."

Tony leaned forward to listen but took another defiant drink from his glass.

"You're going to be a father."

* * *

um...what?

WHAT?

you heard it right. well, they were together on Rinon's ship? could this mean something? Is there a secret romance, or have I developed a red herring? WHO HAS STEVE"S HEART? NOW you must wait until next time to know more!


	41. Chapter 39

Happy Tuesday!

Batghost: sooooo many things could/will/are going to hapen!

khaitosfren: muhahahahaha

Ms. Hawkeye: hmmm...well, maybe... or just not.

tanchik: As for Steve, it is indeed someone we know, but no one you may expect. It came as a shock to me, lemme tell you! And I hope to always leave you in a lurch!

The Spoiled Duchess: oh yes I did!

discordchick: oh the visceral emotions in your review just give me all the warm and fuzzies:)

Fury-Natalia: bahahahahahahaha!

amy. .9 : keep on guessin:)

5mairer: you became one of the hoard!

* * *

Chapter 39

"You're going to be a father," Natasha said with a measure of abandon Tony couldn't place the need for. He waited for her to add more or explain herself, but neither occurred.

"That's impossible. Not completely, but I would at least know about it. Pepper might be able to hide some things from me, like her favorite Oreos, but she'd spill that in three minutes." He chuckled at the very idea and took another sip of his drink.

"It's not Pepper's, it's mine." Natasha clarified.

Tony looked at her, glanced downward at her abdomen hidden beneath the edge of the table, and his eyes drifted back up to her face.

"Bull," he said, this time taking a long gulp from the neck of the glass before slamming it down on the table. Apparently, it was well within her reach, for she leaned forward and snatched it away from him. She set it on the bench beside her.

"I'm serious, so sober up and listen to me," she hissed.

Tony sat back, folded his arms, and waited.

"I don't know how, or why, but apparently I'm pregnant."

"That's ridiculous, you can't even have kids." Tony said.

Natasha kicked his knee under the table, and Tony bent forward, grabbing the abused limb with one hand.

"Don't you think we don't know that?!" She withdrew a picture from her pocket and slapped it down on the table. The three-dimensional image was difficult to deny, and even a layman of Tony's caliber could interpret it. After blinking at it for a while in shock, he snatched the picture off the table and glared into it.

"Is this – you're serious!" Tony exclaimed. The once bordering-on drunk genius quickly came to his senses. His heart thudded in his chest like a jack hammer. The implications of what this meant fell down on him one brick at a time.

"It's his...and mine." She added the second part after a moment, as if she'd already detached herself from the life she helped create. To do the things she had to, that must be her life now.

Suddenly, Tony's eyes, ringed by the effects of alcohol, swelled with unshed tears. His knuckles turned white as he held onto the picture. His scientific mind could not help the analytical turns it then took. He calculated times, dates, ran through situations in which Clint and she had been together, alone and in love. Dredging those memories to the forefront of his mind was like raking knives across his flesh. Imagining Clint with that smile . . . surely it was too much for him.

Ever since the day Barton and Stark ended up on the ground in a rough-and-tumble, drop down, drag out fight about how dissimilar their pasts were, they had made a pact. Their past, was their past. From that moment on, they were brothers, and nothing done before mattered. It wasn't discussed unless information was offered, and it was forgotten unless it became important.

Tony had never had a blood brother during his life, having grown up an only child, but Clint had. He knew what it meant to rely on someone so completely, then have that trust ripped away, trampled over as if it was nothing. Tony provided that endless wealth of optimism, but not overtly so. He was pragmatic. They fought, occasionally to very painful degrees. Yet, the overwhelming reality remained that they were family. A strange little bubble of existence surrounded the two of them, and kept any others at a distance. Their relationship was like Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson, or Starsky and Hutch. One would, and very often did, sacrifice himself for the other.

With the advent of a piece of the archer back again, Tony nearly broke down for an entirely different reason.

"Natasha. . ." he said, for he had nothing else to say.

"I'm not keeping it." She told him in such a way that Tony could never assume she was joking. He sat, absorbing that second shock of news like a slap from the Hulk himself. He exploded.

"You're not doing that. I don't care if I have to tie you to a bed for the next nine months and feed you through a straw – " In his absolute fury, Tony pressed his hands, palm down, onto the stainless steel tabletop and rose to his feet. He loomed over her, and, for once in their relationship, a streak of cold fear rushed up Natasha's spine as she watched him. "I will NOT let you destroy a piece of him like that! This isn't just about you, it's about him too! Don't be selfish with a life just because it's hard on you!"

Realizing what her words implied, Natasha also stood and closed in on him. She spoke very calmly and quietly, hoping that her words would penetrate his alcohol-swollen brain cells. "Tony, I am not getting an abortion. That's not what I meant. What I meant was that I am an unfit person to be called a mother. Pepper, Marie, even Bobbi Morse was better suited at it than I am. I can't raise Clint's child. You can."

Tony retreated back to his side of the table. The surprises never ceased. "What?"

"You have Pepper. You're, somewhat, stable. She's a good woman, and I know for a fact that you are still healthy, alive, and you've said that she has a talent with children. I've considered all the possible people I could trust Clint's child too, and I think you could give him the best life that Hawkeye could hope for. You control his assets. Use that to raise the baby."

Tony shook his head. "Wait, what?"

"I haven't told anyone else. Only Bruce knows. The minute this baby is born, you and Pepper are going to adopt him, and you are going to raise him the way Clint would have wanted. Anything Clint gave to me, give to his son. I don't want any of it."

Tony sat still, "Natasha, do you realize what you're saying? How much he has stashed away? Clint wanted to take care of you, he loved – "

Natasha turned to go. "I can take care of myself."

The door opened, she slipped out, and the door shut. Tony remained in a state of feral shock, alone. He didn't know when he began to breathe again, or what restarted his heart. His eyes dropped to the golden picture of Clint's unborn child, and he completely broke down.

This wasn't just about him. Pepper had to be told. She needed to know it, get ready for how great a change this was going to be for them. His hands shook as he keyed up the Earth communications and directed the signal homeward. Pepper had tried to get in touch since the funeral on Alfheimr, but he didn't have the strength to face her. He didn't want to see anyone.

As he suspected, Pepper answered almost instantly. Her face hovered before his. Tony swallowed, and didn't attempt to hide the tears stinging in the corners of his eyes.

"Tony? Tony, is it really you?" she asked.

He had to pull himself together. Sitting up a little straighter, he said, "Hi, Pep," in a small, boyish voice.

"I tried calling. They said you were – " She didn't want to say the truth: that he'd been sedated for over a week. "Are you ok?"

"No," he admitted softly.

Her expression smoothed, her eyes gentling in that beautiful, kind way she had. "Oh, Tony."

He dropped his head into his hands, working up the courage to tell her the news Natasha had dropped literally in his lap.

"I have something exciting to tell you," Pepper said, smiling.

Tony didn't lift his head. "Yeah?" he asked. He sent her ahead to work on the Tower. Years of neglect and abandonment made it worse for wear. Apparently, she'd already hired a team to rebuild it with the first human colonists one year ago. She wore the pants in the family for a reason.

"I wanted to wait until you got here. It'll take how much longer? Another week?"

"At least," Tony whispered.

"Well, I – OK, it happened before we realized Galactus came. Earth settled down, and we were colonizing again, and I thought we lost you, Tony, you were gone for over five years."

Finally, Tony lifted his head. His mouth dropped open slightly. "Pepper, what did you do?"

Her lips pressed together. She held up her index finger, indicating he should wait, and she disappeared from the screen for a moment. When she returned, Pepper held up a small, 5 inch, black and grey photograph.

"Do you remember telling me about those genetic data banks? The ones we kept with the world history on them? You told me they weren't very important, that the biggest contribution you made to them was – "

Tony slid to his knees to be level with the screen, and squinted at the small monitor. He couldn't believe it. An ultrasound. The outline of a small child-like blip. He looked down at the ultrasound in his hands and lifted his eyes to Pepper again. She had continued on about how much she loved him, missed him, and thought Tony was gone from her forever. She made the difficult decision to do something she'd always wanted, even if it meant being a single mother.

In Vitro. Worked on the first try.

"Tony Stark, you are going to be a dad." Pepper smiled, tears filling her eyes.

"Get ready, Pep," Tony said, shaking his head in utter disbelief. "Because apparently we're having twins."

* * *

if you thought the surprises were over, THEN YOU DON"T KNOW ME!

this is only the beginning. so much more is yet to be in store! How will Tony adjust to potential parenthood? What are the Avengers going to do without their Archer? will they drift apart like they have in the past, or will they band together again? What will Thor do as the new king of Asgard? Stay tuned.


	42. Chapter 40

Happy Wednesday! LOL, guys, I am on a roll with these!

Guest : rest easy:)

Batghost: YAY! my mission is complete

tanchik: Well, we will see something about Kate in this chapter (if I remember right) and as for Clint, I feel like he'd know Natasha enough to understand. BUT, we shall see where this leads:) And I am totally updating faster than I thought i would!

khaitosfren: oh yes, really. Get ready, folks, Avenger babies dreams are coming true. Remember: this is the end of this series!

amy. .9: poor Clint. all this excitement and he will never know:(

5mairer: hehehehehehe.

discordchick: Natasha is planning to be a little plethora of surprises.

Fury-Natalia: hahahahaha! I have therefore accomplished my goals

* * *

Chapter 40

It took over a week for the Avengers to return from the middle of space and in that time Natasha exited her room precisely once. She spoke to no one, accepted the meals Steve made, prepared, and delivered with the tray, leaving it outside her door, and trapped herself in the last remaining dregs of Clint's finals days. When the Gateway came to its final resting place in Cape Canaveral, Natasha joined the other Avengers at the welcome ceremony. None stayed long. Other heroes could take the reins of public appearances. The team itself wanted to shrink back to Avengers Tower and disappear into obscurity.

Thor, Sif, and his father's captain-of-the-guards, Veurr, met them at the Aven-Jet. He stood at the door with a mixture of excitement and trepidation while leaning heavily on a cane someone provided him. When Tony didn't outright attack him, and even offered a kind acknowledgement of his existence, Thor knew he was safely accepted back into the team. The rest of the world could consider itself officially out.

Steve and the others offered kind, brief greetings to the Asgardians that came along with Thor. They might have come, intending that the son of Odin would return to Asgard with them at once, however Thor himself entertained separate plans. He mounted the ramp of the jet and settled down in his normal spot.

Steve looked over at Sif. "He might need some time."

Sif nodded slightly. "He has not spoken to Jane. She remains on Asgard in our company, as he requested."

"Let us handle him for a while. I think everyone deserves some time off. I'll look after him. You can trust me in that." Steve took his leave of them and joined the Avengers. This was his job, his roll. Keep the team together. Keep them sane, supported, and working. Be their representative when times got tough. He could grieve, on his own, later.

The Avengers consolidated themselves. No longer did the team outstretch to the half dozen other lesser hero organizations. They didn't want the world's abject, morbid curiosity fixing their eyes on Avengers Mansion in New York, waiting to see how Captain America, or Tony Stark reacted to a crisis before they handled it themselves. In the seven years the war had stretched for, Kate Bishop, Gambit, Wolverine, Rogue, Iron Fist, Spider-man, and more had taken up the slack left on Earth and the Nova Luna colony. Even with the return of the big guns, they could still control Earth's problems. The Avengers weren't out of the game entirely, they simply needed their time to reconnect with the important things in their life, especially after the loss of so many.

T'Challa returned to his people. Parker to the mansion. Thor, Natasha, Tony, Bruce, Steve, and Pepper alone took up their old residences in the New York tower. Apartments in the mansion, New York proper, D.C. and a few personal items from Clint's home in New Jersey were moved. Clint's Place, the archery range that became a monument to Barton's life, was turned over to his faithful employee and dear friend Bill, his wife, and their new three kids. Bill's cousin, Denali Rizzo, came back into the area with his family and took on an assistant roll. It would forever remain in Clint's name. No one felt right calling themselves the new owners, and that was how it would always be.

Kate Bishop loved Clint like a second father. The girl, his protégé, had grown up immensely in the time everyone spent away. She was good, almost as good with a bow as her mentor. To prevent the old Barton home in New Jersey from falling into disrepair, she began to take up residence in the spare suite he erected in the backyard for visitors passing through. It was a God-send during the Mutant Registration round up days, and anyone passing through Clint's neck of the woods knew they had that small bit of paradise to look forward too at his home. As for the main house, touching it, or his things within, seemed too much to bear. Again, it would always be his, but just having that space brought her closer to the man she never had a chance to say a proper goodbye to.

Moving into the Tower again after so long away had a strange nostalgia to it. Stepping out of the elevator and into the living floor, one faced the long, living quarter hallway. After a dividing wall, one first encountered the living room/open kitchen combo where so many Christmases had been spent in the past. The pine needles seemed to last forever, stuffed in couch cushions, in the carpet fibers, or under the lip of the kitchen island. They spent most gathered meals standing around that island, Clint cooking something for breakfast that woke everyone up and ushered them into the new day. Tony coming up behind him and setting the Keurig to brew. Individual coffee cups, color coordinated. Bruce's was green.

Down the hallway was a short, thigh-high table with the same fake plant sitting there for almost twenty years. Pepper kept putting it off but she wanted to throw it away. When Steve moved in he mentioned how the color brightened up the place. She decided to leave it be. Bruce had rolled over the table, twice, when he brought a girl home one night.

The first living quarter belonged to Clint. It was on the left side of the Tower, the door was open, and someone had already cleared the debris and rubble left by the Kree warship. It looked almost like it always did; bed spreads on the floor, rumpled up pillow, mattress reminiscent of a boulder. An outline of a bow, with two hooks for it, hung on the wall. Beneath the outline was a yellow post-it note Clint never took off the wall. No one knew how it survived the rampant destruction.

_Promised I'd give your bow back, didn't say anything about arrows. Feel better soon, and maybe you'll earn them._

_-Steve_

Steve's room was next on the left with Bruce Banner's directly across from him. Natasha followed on the right and Thor the left. The hall itself ended at a single doorway. It belonged to the Stark suite. A full living room, bedroom, master bathroom, and private elevator leading to the platform over their heads. The bar, pool, landing platform, and other amenities existed up and behind that hidden portal. Or, one might take it downward to the private floor between floors. The hidden Stark lab where the Iron Man suits resided, Bruce's happy place existed, and all the tinker toys they worked on daily came to life.

Bruce stood in the lab now, reasoning with Tony as to why, exactly, he was not the man to fill the very important void in their new lives together.

"Tony, I'm a doctor, I'm a neurosurgeon, a physicist, and expert in nuclear modeling and gamma radiation, cancer therapies! I am not, nor have I ever been an obstetrician."

"But you could be…"

Bruce Banner gave his friend a flat, dead eyed stare. "No."

When confronted with a wall on a path Tony thought was the easiest, Stark did what any rational man would do. He continued to press the matter. "Natasha's having Clint's baby. You know her anatomy better than anyone except Clint himself. You know she's not going to trust anyone else, Bruce!"

The scientist squirmed around the lab bench, placing it between Tony and himself. He'd listened to this self-same argument non-stop for nine days. While it didn't surprise him that Natasha told the billionaire about her pregnancy, it did shock him that she was willing to give the baby up so swiftly. Tony wasn't a bad guy and Bruce thought he'd make a rather amazing father, but that did not mean he was willing to become a private Avengers baby doctor.

"Tony, when you have a toothache, you see the dentist, not the proctologist." Bruce motioned to himself. "Look at me. I'm the proctologist. I don't know the first thing about a birth crisis."

"You had a rotation in it during med school, you told me all about delivering that baby in the back of a van!"

Bruce lowered his glasses. "That was the back of an ambulance, under supervision of a licensed OBGYN, and one of the best, I might say. I'm sorry, I can't just become a specialist in the next," he checked the date on his watch, "six months." Bruce knew it was a lie the moment the words exited his mouth. Technically, he'd been working on exactly that since the moment he learned of Natasha's, then Pepper's condition. He could do fifteen diagnostic tests already, interpret them confidently, and deliver a breech baby. Tony, apparently, knew that too.

"I would do it myself, Bruce, because I've been reading every single medical journal you had, but doctor's won't hand me a scalpel and trust me to know what to do with it. You have performed brain surgery. On me."

"That might be true—"

"It is true."

"But, those two are going to pop within a week of each other. If they go the same day, I can't possibly be in two places at once." Bruce shrugged, mic dropped, case closed. "We need to bring someone else in."

Tony folded his arms across his chest, sank into one of the high backed lab chairs, and stewed on that notion. "Ok, fine. If I let you off the hook on this, then who would you suggest we trust? It can't be just anyone, Bruce. The world's catching on pretty quick to everything Clint did for us out there. If news hits that he has a son," Tony shook his head, "No one wants that."

Bruce smiled a little. "A son? It's too early to tell. Maybe it's a girl."

"Natasha's convinced."

Bruce nodded. He had noticed that every time, and times were brief, that she spoke about Clint's baby, she called it a "he". Feeling Tony might be finished chasing him around the table, Bruce sank into one of the lab bench stools. A memory welled up in him, unbidden. He noticed them coming more and more lately with Clint's absence in the Tower striking him harder and harder.

Ton noticed the shift in the expression on Bruce's face. "What is it?" he asked.

He wondered whether or not he should say it, given the affect it might have on Tony. In the end, Bruce decided he had to talk about it if only to prevent cracking up himself. "I remember bringing Clint down here early one morning. Must have been, I don't know, years ago. About a year or two after we made the team. He'd gone deaf on that mission in Egypt. The one with you and Steve,"

Tony indicated he remembered.

"He sat in this stool," Bruce tapped the seat a little. "And I fitted his first pair of hearing aids. You know, it's the first time I ever saw him lose it. I played some classical music or something. And he just couldn't help it."

Tony's jaw clenched and unclenched. He remembered the aftermath of that time. Working late nights with Bruce on a brain implant to take over what Clint lost. Weeks convincing Clint to go under the knife. The elation of its success. The thought of his surgery finally brought him back t the topic at hand. "Doctor," he said with a measure less enthusiasm.

"Castillo." Bruce said, snapping out of his revere. "She's the best. Familiar with super soldiers and she did her residency in maternal care before taking on specialty practice for powered patients. She's the best in both fields, something Natasha will need."

"You mentioned a second?"

"Grant Lindsey. I did my rotation under him in med school. The man has an attitude like Gregory House and a mouth most sailors would be proud of. I once saw that man deliver quintuplets in four minutes. He's leveled-headed under pressure and one of the best surgeons I've ever worked with. He regularly assists in fetal, in womb, operations pre delivery for children with developmental defects."

"Primary care, Castillo. Emergency, Lindsey." Tony summarized.

Bruce nodded. "I wouldn't go with anyone else. Not with Natasha at least."

"Whoever Natasha sees, Pepper will want to see, it's how girls are." Tony leaned back, folded his hand into a fist and leaned his head against it with his elbow propped on the work desk. "You better start reading up. If something goes wrong, our girls are going to demand you be there."

"I know."

"In fact, I will too."

Bruce grinned. "I know that too."

"You know what I just realized?"

"What?"

"I'm actually going to be a dad."

The expression on his face shifted. Something, much like happiness, crossed his eyes and for a time he could say nothing at all as he thought about it. Bruce sat on the other side of the work bench and watched the emotions roll through him. They were tumultuous waves tossed up like an eastern wind, part enjoyed, part dragging an unending trauma. Tony didn't want to be happy, not with Clint dead.

"How am I supposed to feel?" he asked after a time.

Bruce shook his head a little. "I don't think anyone knows how to answer that."

"How do you feel?"

Sensing a change in his meaning, Bruce took a few moments to contemplate his answer. The thought came to him in a wave. "Ah, that. Betty. So you heard?"

"Me and Clint were nailing down our chicks and she goes off to marry some Japanese guy while you're away at war? It's screwed up."

"It wasn't like that, and I told her too, and, if you must know, I was invited to the wedding. As much as I would like to hate her husband, he is a stand-up guy."

"Did you actually go to the wedding?"

"I might have been the Hulk at the time. But I will not confirm, or deny, that."

Tony smiled. "That's ok. I'll hate him for you."

* * *

Next time: How has Thor been handling what he has seen? Natasha aims to find out!

-Please review!


	43. Chapter 41

New chapter! WHOOT!

khaitosfren: totally had to look up the meaning of Elegiac. I feel so honored:)

Ms. Hawkeye: poor Barton. So much going on without him!

discordchick: daw! the sadness will get worse. no end in sight.

* * *

Chapter 41

Natasha Romanov slipped out of her room early one morning, nearly two weeks after returning to the Tower which served as her home for so many years. She wanted a sense of normalcy, despite the obvious, major change about to occur in a few months time. According to the two scans she allowed Bruce to do, her baby reached somewhere between the late first and early second trimester. For simplicity sake she gave herself the timeframe of thirteen weeks.

For the most part, her life involved sleep. Sixteen to eighteen hours of every day she could hardly anticipate getting more than five feet out of bed before the comfortable sheets called her back, and in she dove. When she wasn't sleeping, she was vomiting or eating. Or too sick to eat, so she lay in bed, nauseous and disgruntled. For someone who spent less than five hours ill in her entire life, vomiting in general became the most horrifying experience she'd ever suffered through (right under the knowledge that a little human would come ripping out of her body). Unable to leave bed, she spent her time doing research. This was a mission after all and with less than thirty weeks before she had to face that inevitable end, Natasha set out to understand as much as she had to about the changes coming.

Satisfyingly terrified over what she learned, and desperate to get out of her room, Natasha went to the one place she knew might afford an opportunity to be alone. The gym. Steve had left earlier in the day for a conference in D.C. She listened to his goodbye for almost half an hour, then further overheard his instruction over Natasha's meal plan. It should bother her the care he was taking. Natasha desperately wondered why she had yet to slap him in the face, order him out, or generally want to shoot him in the leg. He hand delivered three square meals a day, wordlessly, removed her piles of dirty laundry and replaced them clean, or generally made her comfortable. Natasha never told him to stop.

Steve grieved, like all of them did. He was also loyal to an utter fault. He confessed what he'd promised to Clint, that he would be Natasha's protector till the day he died, and whether she liked it or not, he planned to carry that out. Learning that she was going to be a mother turned his "father bear" mentality on overdrive. Natasha could very well order him to jump out a window, naked, wrapped in an American flag and the man would do so without question. The power over him did have the risk of becoming intoxicating. For now, she resisted, deciding it was better not to fight him.

Unlike her presumption, she wasn't the only one seeking a little privacy in the gym. Tony and Pepper were out at a doctor's appointment, Bruce went along to interview an OBGYN for her, and Thor wasn't supposed to leave his room for at least another week, or more. Surprisingly, she found the Asgardian sitting on the edge of the boxing ring, staring at the floor.

Natasha looked back at the way she'd come, debating if going to her room might be better than making conversation. Thor's expression gave her pause. He seemed so, emptied. Forgoing her own ideas, Natasha strode inside.

"Seems like someone flew the coop," she said, striding over. Her walk was changing slightly and she didn't like it.

Thor looked sharply up, too fast, and threw out his hand to grab the ring ropes and prevent falling forward. He closed his eyes.

Concerned, Natasha started forward, pausing at his side with her hand on his knee. Thor wasn't weak. She'd seen him bleed twice, maybe three times in the years they'd known each other. In all that time he required bed rest only once during the Frost Giant war on Asgard. He felt good enough to march back into that war front twelve hours later.

"I am well, I assure you," Thor attempted to say.

"I believe that as much as Loki's reformation."

Thor's eyes opened. He smiled a little. "It gladdens me to see you. You should not spare your concern for me when there are so many others that require your attention."

"I can worry about whatever I want," she said with a false stubbornness.

When Thor came up from the crag of rock, it wasn't without his fair share of injuries. Some creature had taken a large bite out of his left arm. Another snatched at his abdomen, pulling a chunk of flesh and muscle away. His knee was an entirely separate matter.

"How are you?" Natasha asked.

Thor shook his head. "You should—"

Natasha reached up and pinched the back of his good arm, hard. Thor jumped, holding the offended limb with a look of complete shock. She smiled, hoisted herself up, and sat beside him. She scooted close and leaned her head along his shoulder.

"Stop telling me what I should and shouldn't do. You aren't my mother. I asked how you were. You saved my life, remember? I didn't just forget that after you came screaming down out of the sky to save me."

Thor tensed slightly, but soon the fight left him. He took in a great breath, building up his lungs like a bellows, and released it slowly. "I am progressing. It is slow. If I spent this time among my people, then I might have crossed the plain of feeling healthy once more. As it is, I am here."

"Why don't you return home?" she asked quietly, letting her head rest against him.

"I believe I am needed more here."

"I'm sorry about your father, Thor. I'm not sure if I had a chance to say that to you."

Thor shook his head a little, he let his body fall back until the ropes supported the two of them. Natasha felt unnaturally like human company and stayed.

Steve told her the story when she asked for it. About how Thor dropped out of the sky, took her to safety, and dove into the dark depths to rescue Clint single handedly. Thor returned from that darkness half dead. It took Bruce and a team of five surgeons ten hours in surgery to stabilize him and another five hours the following day. He remained on life support for three days, an unheard of time for an Asgardian. The doctors could only assume some unknown poison existed in the jaws of those creatures, hampering the future king's progress toward recovery. Seeing Thor now, Natasha had no doubt their theories proved true.

"There have been so many, too many, I must grieve. Nothing remains of my father to release into the stars. Soon Asgard will look to me as their king. In many respects, my people already do. I have left our leadership to Heimdall, at least for now, until I wish to accept my place. Jane awaits my return there. She has been patient."

Natasha hadn't thought of that before. Odin commanded his ship down Galactus' throat, boxing in the Bethlehem Star to prevent the Heralds from striking her down. Odin, and four ships of his commanders, all perished in that final push which served as the final undoing of Galactus. The skies were set on fire when the _Bethlehem Star_ engaged. The moon shook apart, the nearest ship vaporized in the utter force of the colliding Goliath particles. The massive blackness which was once Galactus sucked into the singularity, his tendrils of power stripped from the world around until nothing remained of him. He was trapped, cycling for millennia in the signet of energy spinning him round and round forevermore.

"When will you go?" she asked.

"There are a great many things to accomplish beforehand. Veurr, our old friend, was once the captain of my father's guards. He has become more than that and I have decided to set him over my armies and international relations. Sif joins him in that role."

"Your right hand." Natasha smiled approvingly. Veurr had been Clint's friend and guide on Asgard. As upright as a flagpole, he spent the first half of the Frost Giant war protecting Barton and the second half proving he was worthy to the task after his loyalty came into question. Sif and Natasha had shared a great time in battle together during the Frost Giant War. There was no one better to continue to groom the former captain.

"As I remember, he's the kind of guy who might pass out and refuse something like that, claiming he's unworthy."

"And so he has. Heimdall has convinced him otherwise under duress. Now my focus remains on replacing my great friend's position."

Natasha liked listening to these troubles. They seemed minor compared to the rest of their lives. Somewhere in D.C. Steve sat in front the world leaders, testifying about the events that occurred, as he saw them. She did not envy his position.

"What about Volstagg? Or Fandral?"

Thor, had his heart been in a different place, might have laughed. "No, neither would accept. They enjoy their freedom too much for such positions as that may require."

"Do you have anyone in mind?"

"Perhaps. It does not matter just now. I have time to decide it. I will ask when it appears right to do so."

Natasha nodded. Her eyes drifted down to his knee, where the mound of bandages steeped over the hidden wound. He'd nearly severed it completely. Had he been a Midgardian, Thor might be in a wheelchair for the next six months. If he was an elf, he most certainly would be dead. That race didn't handle medical maladies. Even minor wounds took months to heal.

Natasha's hand found its way into his. She liked to blame the evil entity swimming through her veins known as "hormones". They made her emotional. Fought her Black Widow training every moment. They made her seek out his comfort against her.

"I am sorry," Thor whispered.

Her fingers tightened on his. "For what?" She wasn't sure why she said it. Thor had saved the words for such a moment alone as this. "Clint loved you. Loved all of us. You were like a brother to him."

Thor's eyes closed. He pushed away from the ring until his feet touched the floor and he picked up the cane to lean on. Natasha watched him take a few steps for the door, as if he meant to slip away. Before he left her in solace, Thor turned to her.

"I vowed to stay by his side. I failed him." Thor's face was heavy in emotion. She'd seen him this way once, soon after his mother's murder years ago. "I am not his family. I have no right to be called such. I have failed him in his dying hour and I have failed his heir which I have heard you now carry. He will never know the man Barton was and for that I can blame only myself." Thor limped gloomily away. Leaving Natasha in the shadow of his heavy words.

:(:):(:):

Natasha strode up the hallway, tracing her hand along the center molding of the wall. Pepper had repainted it since the last time they had lived in the Tower. The upper half of the walls was painted a soft buttercream, the lower a deep, pine green. The color was so rich, she thought she could even smell the deep forest scent. Pepper wanted to make the place more like home.

Coming to the end of the walkway, her attention shifted right to the living room and kitchen. Thor stood in the center of the room, transfixed by the over-sized television. Curious, Natasha took a few steps toward him to see around his shoulder.

"They have asked after our departed brother." Thor said, not moving.

Steve Roger's face appeared on the screen. He sat behind a long, oak table with General Rhodes on the left of him and Captain Sam Wilson on the right. Five leaders of the United Nations assembled in an arc of judgement seats in front of him. More littered the seats of the court room, intermixed in the living senators, congressmen, and United States party leaders. The interim president was front and center of it all.

"What have they been saying?" Natasha asked, stepping softly to the couch. She lowered herself down, transfixed by the faces on the screen.

"They demand to know whether our brother caused these atrocious acts. They are uneducated fools to ponder such cursings."

"What did Steve say?"

"They await his response now."

Natasha grew quiet. She searched for the remote and adjusted the volume, raising it enough to hear without straining.

The cameraman appeared confused. He switched continually between the president's critical face and Steve Rogers who had yet to lift his head from his lap. Sam placed his hand on Steve's shoulder, squeezing gently.

_"Captain Rogers, we have been patiently waiting your response to these accusations. Now we appreciate all the sacrifices that the world's heroes have made under these extreme circumstances, but it is the object of this assembly to understand the reality of what befell that day. If Clint Barton was a traitor—"_

Natasha gasped, her hand flying up to her mouth. The man, president or not, was lucky Steve had attended the meeting and not Tony, Bruce, Thor . . . anyone else really. Steve might keep a level head where the others could not. Rhodes and Sam both launched out of their chairs, the objects tumbling backward with the force of their outburst. Steve, the measure of calm, grabbed both of them. He became their leash.

Outburst over, a fuming pair reset their chairs and shoved themselves down into them. Raising his eyes, Steve spoke at last.

_"Clint Barton, known also as Hawkeye, was one of the greatest men I have ever known. For you to consider, to let the thought pass your mind, that he was anything less than a hero is absolute horse –"_

A fast censor bleeped out a four word long string of curses that Natasha nearly fell right over for hearing. Captain America, the world's pretty boy, just cursed out the president of the United States.

"The man has deserved the words," Thor whispered. He came a little closer to watch.

Steve never left his chair. He did not shake, his voice, at first, came out steady and calm as the rumble of thunder. The room grew silent. The country drew close to their television screens as they listened to Captain Rogers tell everyone just what Clint Barton had done for them.

_He started in the hospital the day Clint's stroke nearly sent him to his grave. Many knew the story, for it was from that moment the ancient Sarhorn race first entered their lives and started them on the path to Galactus. He continued on, about how Clint left his home, his livelihood, and everything he loved knowing that one day the universe was going to ask him to die in only the most horrible way it could formulate. _

_"Clint didn't just risk his life once. He did it day after day, over and over again to keep our small effort moving." _Steve had to stop. Rhodes leaned in, whispering encouragement. When he took up the story again, his voice had altered a little as the grief began to seep in._ "Not long after we first reached the Gateway, our fleet was under a surprise attack from Alfheimr. While we shuttered ourselves in, hid behind our guns, and died under the Kree's might Clint took a ship and flew to Vanaheim. He warned our men in enough time to save our efforts. He personally ran into a burning barrack, rescuing hundreds of Alfheimr natives, including their king. He then personally flew those rescued souls to safety. He had been impaled and suffered internal bleeding on top of a damaged kidney. He still dragged himself out of his hospital bed to sit by King Haladarrel while he died._

_"Clint knew our success depended on our relations with Alfheimr and he did everything he could to preserve that. He did more than anyone else on that World Council. Against sound medical advice, he left Vanaheim to help find the Infinity Gauntlet."_

Steve looked around the room._ "Not a lot of people on this planet knows exactly what the Infinity Gauntlet is. In stupid terms, it's a power source. It gives nearly limitless energy to one worthy enough to wield it. Thanos had it when he invaded Earth and nearly vaporized the oceans. He used it against Galactus in the first war and almost assured us of our own doom, because that's how Galactus feeds on power. Clint knew that if a Herald, or one of Galactus' followers got to the Gauntlet, anything we did would be worthless. And they would stop at nothing to get it._

_"He spent months in space in a ship no bigger than this room. With no autopilot. Flying twelve hours at a time. He met up with the Guardians of the Galaxy and with their help continued searching. Finally it was in their hands. And it had to be moved._

_"I'm not forgetting the fact that the entire time Clint was risking his life, Thanos and his agents were working against him. An Elven engineer, kidnapped by Thanos, attempted to kill him. Loki, who had supported him for nearly a year in space, alone, betrayed him. Clint was faced with a choice. To go to Alfheimr and try to save it, or to hide it. He stood up when everyone else was too busy evacuating this planet to care about the Elven Race. A race who only encountered heartache because they volunteered to help us."_

Steve was forced to stop again. His eyes dropped to the table top. Sam patted his shoulder gently. The audience waited with bated breath for what might come next. His mind was filled in those final moments he and Clint shared together. Clint signing through the glass at him. His final goodbye.

_"Clint Barton died at Heaven's Keel on Nova Luna. After using the Infinity Gauntlet to save Alfheimr, after decimating the entire Thanos fleet single handedly, he wrestled against a Herald, alone. That creature took the Gauntlet to Nova, knowing Galactus would soon come. What was five and a half years of preparations for us, was only a few hours for him. Clint knew where to find the Gauntlet. Knew that getting it and destroying it, was the only way to assure our chance at living. He—"_

Emotion choked his voice. Rhodes swiftly leaned forward, grabbed a glass of water and guided it into Steve's hands. The whole world watched as Captain America's shaking fingers attempted to let him drink. Sam took the glass away before it shattered.

Steve started, and stopped perhaps three times in his attempt to overcome the emotion. It took many, patient, minutes to hear him finally say, _"Clint Barton wasn't just a member of our team. He was a member of our family. He knew he was going to die, and he made that ultimate sacrifice." Steve_ rose to his feet. Fearing what he might be capable of, Sam and Rhodes got up also. _"Any man who tries to sit here and say he was anything less than a hero is . . . is . . ."_ Steve dropped his head to his hand again.

Rhodes leaned forward, bringing the microphone to his side of the table. _"Sirs, is it all right if we take a moment here?"_

The president's eyes darted to Rogers who was too overcome with emotion to continue speaking. He then spied at the cameras which watched his every move. It wouldn't do any interim president good to lay into Captain America, a man obviously weighed down in unyielding grief. _"I think that would be a good idea. Let's take a recess and pick this back up after lunch."_

Rhodes took Steve's elbow in his hand and gently helped raise him out of the chair. Steve followed numbly. He hadn't gone more than a few, staggering, steps before his legs gave out from under him. The room gasped and jumped from their seats. Sam dropped down beside him and shoved the cameras back.

Natasha looked over at Thor. "I think our altar boy just learned some big-kid words."

"I think he said a deal less than what I might have thrown at them," he replied.

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Poor Steve! Poor Thor! Awe, those boys are so hard on themselves, but in grief its to be expects.

-Please review!


	44. Chapter 42

Fast, fast, fast, updates!

Batghost: this may brighten your day some:)

Fury-Natalia: nope, nope, nope, nope...

Ms. Hawkeye: hahaha, yes i can do this to your questions will be answered very soon.

discordchick: oh, rest easy. steve gets his soon:)

amy. .9: hahahahahahahahahahahah...

IceDragoness1: daw! Yes, in some ways reading this isnt safe around the general population simply for the pure emotions you will surely experience.

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Chapter 42

Natasha Romanov watched Steve sleep. His steady breathing rhythmic and somehow peculiar for a man who spent less than a few hours every night accomplishing such a task. She could understand the sentiment now. The meeting in Washington had taken all the energy out of him. Rhodes and Sam carried him out of the court room floor and together advocated in his stead for the remainder of the proceedings. All the headline news outlets ran the sole photo of the prostrate Captain America, cradled in the arms of his friends, as Sam shoved the masses away.

Steve twitched under the rays of the sun dropping through his curtains. He tended to wake with the new day, all the more reason Natasha wanted to get up before him.

He shifted in the bed, blinking through the dawn at her. It wasn't easy to see past the tray of orange juice, stack of pancakes, and quarter pound of bacon. How he missed smelling that, he had no idea. Pushing up on one elbow, he gazed over the food at her.

"Tash? What are you doing? What time is it?"

"I was repaying you for breakfast over the last month. And, it's early. I'm going to the doctor's with Bruce today."

Steve looked down at the tray of food. "You didn't have to do this. I mean—"

"Yeah I did." Natasha folded her arms in front of her chest and stacked one knee over the other. There was a few things left unsaid between the two of them. She'd let those words hang in the air, obscure and hidden beneath the pain they suffered through in silence.

"It's not that I love you," Steve said suddenly, lifting himself up. He grabbed the orange juice and took down a swig. Natasha watched him, wondering just what was scrolling around in that mind of his.

"I'll admit that I loved you, very much, once. I'll even admit that the minute Clint told me he married you, I kinda wanted to kill him." Steve set the glass down, picked up a piece of bacon, and smiled. "I was obviously jealous. Then he took me aside, and he told me something that I don't think I'll ever forget. He said, I wasn't a father to him, a brother, or even family. I was his conscience. He knew if I gave him my word on something, then I kept it. It took me a long time to come to grips with that."

Natasha smiled a little. "So is this you saying flat out you aren't planning on convincing me to keep the baby, marry you, and live a happy, weird, life together?"

He laughed, ate piece of bacon, and offered her one. "No, I'm not. You weren't ever mine, Natasha. Clint said it right. You don't belong to anyone. Not him and not to me. Whatever you decide to do, I'll support you. And I'm going to keep looking out for you, whether you like it or not. Because I gave him my word that I would."

She accepted the slice, forgoing the fact that she'd already eaten her fair share while cooking his. "Is this a salty olive branch you offer?"

"Depends on if you say yes."

"What about that new girl of yours? How's she feel about you playing nurse maid?"

"I think she understands."

Natasha watched him for a while, trying to fix something in her mind. Finally she asked, "All right, who is she? Do I know her?"

Steve laughed. "Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure you know her and she isn't mind. Like I said before, I don't think she's one to accept the whole love idea."

Her eyes narrowed. "She's not from this planet is she? Wow, soldier boy, you are just full of surprises."

"Be nice, now. I guess none of you were around when Jane kinda forced Thor's hand. After the Earth evacuation, she wasn't about to be left out of things one more time. He decided to send her to Asgard, to keep her safe and to work on things from there. Thor went to check on her, and suddenly he walked into a wedding. One more male war bride in the sea of others. Odin presided. Apparently she twisted his arm into it to."

Natasha was surprised Thor had tied the knot and not bothered to mention it. Then again, given their conversation the day before she couldn't blame him. "Sif didn't kill her?" She almost laughed. It wasn't uncommon knowledge that Thor's long-time war companion loved the prince, now king, dearly. The only one who seemed oblivious to it was Thor himself.

"She found a way to get back at him. Apparently I have a big sign on my forehead that reads "rebound". I tried not to get tied up again, and she did to, but then it sort of didn't work out the way either of us planned. She liked a guy from Brooklyn who could hold his own. Remember she fought that battle with us on Asgard. And the one on Alfheimr when she came to Clint's rescue years back."

Natasha sat back, shaking her head in disbelief. "Sounds like we missed out on a lot in that time we were on different time zones. You and Sif. Wow, Cap. I didn't see that one coming."

:(:):(:):

Natasha stared down at the women in the room as if she was planning exactly which of them might have a bomb, and not a baby, expanding in their abdomens. Unrealistic fear? Indubitably. Did she continue to dwell on those thoughts rather than face that fact that she currently sat in the wing of New York General's Mercy Hope Maternity Center? Absolutely.

Approaching the door, reading those glazed on letters, Natasha nearly spun around and marched straight back to her car, with or without Bruce Banner and Pepper Potts. Tony grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her through the front door. Natasha may want to live her entire pregnancy in denial, but for the health of her baby she at least needed a basic exam.

Bruce arrived at her door one day and dropped off an entire basket of pre-natal vitamins. At first Natasha threw them down the hall, but he soon convinced her what might be inconvenient for a time, would serve the baby's health in the end. She saw the light and adjusted. Sitting in the waiting room, sixteen weeks into her pregnancy and all Natasha wanted to do was crawl the walls, set off a smoke bomb, and sneak away in the chaos. Tony, perhaps sensing that exact notion, slid into a seat beside her and removed the knife sticking out of her boot.

It was Natasha's strict request that no one outside of Stark Tower found out about her and Clint's child. Since Steve's speech at the UN meeting, a lot of fuss was being made around Hawkeye and everything he ever did, places he visited, and lives he touched. Heroes the world around heard about his death in the Galactus War and came to Avengers Mansion to pay their respects. Hundreds visited Clint's shooting range in New Jersey and spent their time reminiscing over cold beers with Bill and Denali Rizzo. Some went a few rounds in the Danger Room gym for old time's sake. There was talk of restarting Fight Night, though none had spear headed the movement. Somehow it seemed too empty without the life of the party along.

"Hello Mrs. Stark! You've got a whole troop with you today," Nurse Jack Biehl declared behind the counter. He passed over the sign in paper and a pen, then nodded a hello to Bruce, Tony, and Natasha.

"Everyone's getting excited now that we can actually see something." Pepper replied, signing her name.

Another stipulation in Natasha's maternity care. She would be "Pepper's office buddy" and nothing more. No name on the books. No obvious reason why she'd come. No indication of her pregnancy to anyone in the waiting room. Castillo, an old time friend and physician, knew very well the intricacies of treating powered patients. Discretion was her middle name.

Biehl grabbed Pepper's file, searched under the table for Natasha's and stacked one within the other. He went around the far wall, came out through the exam door and within a few minutes the pair were ushered back into separate exam rooms. Tony stood in the hallway for a moment, torn as to which direction he intended to go. Bruce went with Natasha, so he followed Pepper instead.

Bruce grinned at the Black Widow. "How Tony plans to handle this, I'm not about to guess."

Natasha smiled, removing her jacket. March was balmy this year with a winter wind not wanting to give way. She had another five months to go yet, the rest of which including her "showing" period. That meant summer, summer meant heat, and two pregnant ladies in the heat did not sound like the kind of fun she liked to have.

"Nervous?" Bruce asked.

Natasha shrugged, eyeing the exam table. She decided to sit on one of the chairs instead. "No."

"Pepper's going to ask the sex of the baby today," he pointed out nonchalantly. One couldn't ask her a direct question, she tended to shut down for things like that.

"She said that forty-three times in the last four days."

"She's excited. Wants a little girl."

"I know that too."

"You want a boy."

"I don't want a boy."

Bruce's eyebrow arched. He shifted, just slightly in his chair to examine her profile. "Oh? All this time—"

"I don't care what it is. I know it's a boy. It doesn't matter to think it's anything else."

Natasha tended to have this assurance. She'd already taken up the habit of referring to the baby as a "he" or "him". A more troubling matter was her avoidance of calling the baby hers. In her eyes it belonged to Clint, as if he had the power to create a clone of himself and implant it in her. It had to be a boy, it had to be his, and Tony would raise him. That was her only opinion on the matter.

"Remember when Pepper found Clint's grandmother?" Natasha randomly asked. She was looking at her nails, analyzing them for stray debris from the waiting room.

Bruce smiled. "Do I ever. She didn't realize it was his paternal side. Clint crawled out a window and hid out on the roof from the eighty-something-year old. As if she'd climb up there after him. Tony had to go up and coax him down."

"She turned out nice."

"Very. Clint was afraid she'd be like his father. Try to convince him the man was a good kid, though she ended up saying the opposite."

"She said Clint looked like her husband. His grandfather, Henry."

His smile widened. Years ago, after uncovering some information about Clint's father's service record in Vietnam, Pepper had decided to do a little Ancestry research for other living relatives. It bothered Thor, and therefore her, a great deal to think Clint was the last of his lineage. Together they tracked down a woman named Kitty Jenkins-Barton. After a few background checks, they realized the woman was in fact Clint's biological grandmother and off to the Tower they went. Clint had the shock of his life meeting her, and almost flat out refused to even speak with the woman. The others convinced him otherwise, and for good measure.

They spoke for hours. Clint took the little old woman out for lunch and they spent the day strolling Central Park. While he listened to the small bit of his father's upbringing, he was most interested in his grandfather's life. The old man had died not long before in a parachuting accident at almost ninety years of age. He'd been a paratrooper in World War II, and famously landed on Omaha beach in Normandy.

Clint grew to love his paternal grandparents, though Henry Barton and he never had a chance to meet. In a fascinating twist of events, Steve Rogers actually remembered the man. He'd beaten Dooly one night in East Germany at a game of pinochle that almost ended in fists flying. Howard Stark and Peggy jumped in to separate the men, a chair was thrown, and following the thrashing of the bar, Dugan and Barton both invited Captain Rogers to a hand of crazy eights by candle light, using Stark's unconscious body as a table.

Natasha sat back, letting her legs swing in a childish way. "Clint never wanted to name a boy after himself. Something about the funny names he got called by the orphanage kids. I think I'll name him Henry."

Bruce tried to hide his all-out approval of the name, worried too much support might come across as false to her. "Henry Frances?" he supplied.

She glanced over, clasping onto it. "Henry Frances. His grandfather's name and his middle name. I think he would have picked that."

"I think he might have. It's a very good name."

Natasha returned her eyes to her knees. "Henry Frances," she whispered downward. She liked having something to call that shifting form inside of her.

Bruce relaxed back and watched her whisper. It was the first time she'd seen her talk to the baby, something Pepper did very often now. In fact, sometimes she spoke _for_ the baby too. Natasha took things slower but at least she wasn't rebelling openly against them.

Dr. Castillo came through the door. She'd known Natasha, mainly through Clint's frequent flyer miles. Her trust was absolute. Natasha knew what needed to happen. Undress, climb onto the table, answer questions, look at the monitor. She could accomplish all of that without feeling the slightest emotion, if she tried hard enough to undo the work her raging hormones sought everyday to uproot in her.

Beside her, Bruce saw the wall coming up and clamping over her heart. He had hoped she might wait a little longer into the appointment before she shut completely down. Unfortunately, he was talking about Natasha.

Castillo went straight into the small talk. The consolation over Clint's death, get on the table, must have exciting stories, this gel will be cold, have you picked out a name, just set this here, and so on and on. Bruce took in the knowledge for them both, knowing they might need to review it over again in the car.

Little Henry Francis Barton appeared on the screen, and suddenly all of Natasha's hard won Black Widow training collapsed into a puddle of progesterone. She sat up a little, grabbed the side of the rolling monitor, and dragged it closer. Her eyes welled in big, round tears and very suddenly she burst into a sob.

"He has toes!" She exclaimed excitedly, her hand gripped the front of Bruce's shirt and yanked him closer, pointing out the screen. "Look! Bruce, look! He has fingers!"

Bruce struggled against her iron-clad grasp on his collar which effectively cut off his air supply. She was so excited, she most likely hadn't noticed.

"Loohhk ahht thahhht," he rasped, appreciatively.

She let him go and rolled forward to watch. The baby bounced all over beneath the ultrasound probe. "Look at him! I don't even feel that! Should I feel that?"

Castillo grinned, encouraged by her excitement and the thumbs up Bruce hid beside his arm. "Actually you might not feel anything until eighteen, or even twenty weeks. So I wouldn't be too concerned about that just yet."

Natasha grabbed Bruce again. "Tony! Go get Tony! And Pepper! I want them to see Henry!"

Not about to argue with a woman high on hormones and enthralled for the first time at being a new mother, Bruce swiftly departed. He found Tony and Pepper just heading into the hall and quickly ushered them inside before Natasha had a chance to change her mind. Together, the four of them clustered around the monitor, watching tiny Henry Barton bounce his way into their lives.

Pepper leaned her head on Natasha's arm, sighing in relief. "What are we going to do, Tony? Two boys."

Bruce laughed. "You too?"

Tony nodded, patting his jacket pocket where a new case of cigars were waiting to pass out to every father in the waiting room.

"Just think about it. A little Clint and a little Tony. Pint sized brothers raised by Avengers." Pepper sighed again, whimsically allowing her future to play out before her eyes. They were going to be little hell-raisers, and that was an absolute fact.

* * *

DAW! Mini Tony/Clint! The most adorable boys soon to come onto this planet!

(if they survive, cause, you know, I've killed Clint and his family before already;)

-Now with that little mental image: Please review!


	45. Chapter 43

**I think tonight I may give you two chapters. You know, because it's saturday and I'm feeling generous:)**

Fury-Natalia: hahahahaha, I am slowly closing the door on all the men potentially in her life. After all, Natasha isn't one to be owned. Even by her own baby...perhaps...

Batghost: I love how you put that. the "Lost" years. There might be a story hidden behind those words I may nee to look into one day... And it seems everyone has had a shotgun nuptial! It seems the only way to truly land that hero. Spring it on them!

amy. .9: oops. that is all.

discordchick: those little shimmers of hope peaking through her Widow ways. We shall see where this goes!

5mairer: LOL! That's ok. unlike most of my well established story lines, the "Henry" explanation has not yet arrived (you can find an excerpt of it under the up-coming story title "Stranded" on my author page). It will be released later when i have a chance to finish it. Anywho- it goes something like this: Clint has a brother Barney. The Barton boys were raised by their chain-smoking mother and alcoholic father until a drunk driving accident killed them. Clint has always hated his father. His grandparents, on his father's side, are Henry (Hank) Barton and Kitty Alice Jenkins. He met Kitty once, years prior, when Pepper decided to go crazy on . Kitty lived only miles from the Barton childhood home, but never knew what happened to her son after he left the Vietnam war. Hank, a paratrooper in World War II, had died not long before Clint met with Kitty for the first time. From her stories of Hank, Clint grew to really be inspired by that grandfather he never knew, the one who was so much like himself. The Avengers know the story, as they have already lived it, yet my readers do not, because I haven't yet finished writing it :P.

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**I Can Hear the Drums**

Chapter 43

Clint stared directly into the camera, a wall of flashes erupting behind him. His mouth was opened in a wide-grinned smile while Tony's arms draped across his shoulders and gave a squeeze-cheeked fish mouth. The billionaire scientist's left hand disappeared just off the edge of the film where Thor and Steve stood laughing. He had been signing to them. Later the newspapers would analyze a string of shots in sequence. An ASL interpreter created the headline for the following day's news stands.

~"Brothers,"~ the sign read. It was the same one that Clint was caught half-way displaying over his chest.

Tony swallowed the lump in his throat as he gazed down into Clint's eyes.

"We were supposed to do this together, you know?" he said to the picture. "We married our girls, Clint. We were supposed to raise each other's kids. Spoil the hell out of them and live to be those couple of old guys in Central Park, telling everyone about our good old days. You weren't supposed to cut out early. You—"

He stopped. His hand moved the photo away, laying it face down on the bed beside him. The pain crushed him like a vice. He'd broken down into a well of despair more times than he could count. The only thing keeping him sober was the fact that he had a baby on the way, two actually, and he simply couldn't afford to be the liquor bottle tycoon he desperately wanted to be.

"Tony? I'm thinking about going to the memorial tomorrow with Natasha. She wants a chance to see it before she starts showing and word gets around." Pepper appeared from the bathroom, fixing an earring along her lobe. She caught the peculiar expression reddening across his face and her hands stopped.

"What is it?" her voice piqued. She padded over to him and dropped down by his knees. Her fingers searched up to his jawline and held him against her palms.

He wanted to speak, but couldn't. Instead he fell back to an old, trained habit. The fingers on his right hand curled, becoming a pair of talons. He then lifted his index and middle fingers to his eyes and pulled them away toward her. Tony created the sign for Clint's nickname years before when Clint decided to make one for Tony. When words failed, signs didn't. Pepper understood him instantly.

~"Hawkeye."~

She closed in, putting her arms around his waist and her head along his knee. "I miss him too," she whispered.

"I should go with you."

"You don't have to. It's not going anywhere. Not for a long time."

"I know, but I should still go. See it. Show support and…"

Pepper nodded.

After Steve's speech, an awe-inspired group of citizens banded together to do something for the underdog archer who had devoted his entire life to the world he loved. Working in secret, masons, welders, and metallurgist created an earthen replication of the famous Elven bow that was Barton's calling card. It stood on a base of onyx and granite fashioned in the now-famous landmark of Hawkeye's Keel. One of the bow limbs, formed from silver and black titanium attached to the granite keel on a 45-degree angle, with the upper limb rising off and to the right. A special designed elven arrow stretched between the spun metal string.

The donors completed the work in secret, then surprised the world when one day they delivered it to the front drive way of Clint's old training range. Kate Bishop, Hawkeye's protégé, came out as the sponsor of the entire project.

The world watched its unveiling. Equally surprised at the gesture of appreciation, the Avengers caught the news segment by chance. Thor, nearly recovered from his wounds, left at once to join the celebration. He stood at the podium someone brought along, waited as the crowd grew quiet, and tearfully echoed the Avengers' appreciation at the kindness showed to them.

Tony couldn't listen to the words Thor shared. He had to walk away, disappear to his room, sit on the bed, and grab the old picture of Clint. He'd been there ever since.

"Thor electrified the entire statue in some special way. It glows now. It's really quite beautiful. His signal brought others. Fehreh's been on Asgard, helping their kingdom's transition before she goes back to Alfheimr. She came through the Bifrost and somehow changed the lightning into orbs, like fireflies. They just circle it all over. Spinning in all sorts of colors," Pepper whispered.

"She's queen again, isn't she?" Tony chanced to ask, allowing his attention to change off of his pain.

"I think so. You weren't around for five years because of what that stupid Gauntlet did. As far as all of Alfheimr knew, the realm had just vanished, like all of you had. They sent ships and searched, and no one ever found it. It was just there one day and gone the next. The Elves almost gave up on us. Fehreh had faith, though. Faith in Rinon and faith in Clint. She kept everyone going. She was the only one left beside Arahaelel, the crowned queen. They sort of ruled together. Alfheimr lost almost all of its leaders during that last fight when Clint . . ."

Tony knew that too. Simply presiding over Clint's death and the deaths of so many of his nation, was all it took for the elder Doodle Bygrove to reach the bitter end of what his body might have suffer through. He was laid to rest in the forest of Woodrenkell, among the remnant of his kin, in the old great tree that had once been his home for four millennia. Many thought Fehreh hadn't returned home because she couldn't yet face it. Ruling alone without her soul mate, her ei-koh as the elves called it, was enough to destroy any heart. Tony could understand her delays. In many ways, he didn't want to come home either. He wanted to avoid walking by Clint's room every morning and evening, knowing that it would never be occupied again. He occasionally caught himself reaching for the door jamb, as if to knock before letting himself in.

"I'll go tomorrow," Tony whispered, trying to forget that empty room. "Clint would be there for me. It's my turn to be there for him."

* * *

;_;

poor Tony

Brothers forever.

please review!


	46. Chapter 44

Um, so maybe I will be SUPER amazing, and give you 3 chapters tonight?

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Chapter 44

Tony's eyebrow cruised up his temple the longer he scanned the shelves to the fridge. He hummed, then harrumphed, and, finding nothing of what he looked for, straightened and stared at the two women who watched him. Natasha sat on the bar stool to the left, chewing on left over quesadillas. On the right Pepper munched down a pickle, a taco, and three rice crispy treats.

"So if I ask where my left over Mexican went, I can just stop at the pregnant women?" he asked, rather rhetorically.

"I would have been fine with snap peas, deep fried Oreos, and half a container of pistachio ice cream but we didn't have that," Pepper said matter-of-factly.

"All I want is steamed broccoli, cheese, fruit roll ups, steak –no, filet mignon—and a tub of pecan butter cream." Natasha shrugged as if the request had been completely normal.

Tony, however, simply stared at them blankly.

"Why did you say steak? Now I want steak! I'm trying not to eat meat and this coffee thing is killing me! Maybe I should just drink caffeine again. Do you think that will give little Bartholomew a weird face?" Pepper swallowed another bite of her tacos.

Tony pointed to the plate. "Um, there's meat in that—"

"Don't be silly, Tony, I scraped it off and stuck tofu inside," Pepper dismissed him with a wave and returned to her conversation with Natasha. "I mean, half the internet says no caffeine, the other half says that vegetarians have weird tasting breast milk. I'm not planning to taste it. What are you doing?"

"And we are not naming him Bartholomew." Tony interjected.

"I want steak. I'm eating steak. Like, now. I want steak right now." Natasha dropped her food onto her place. "And now I want a coffee too. But not just any coffee, I want a double shot Frappuccino from that Caribou place on 86th. The one across from Steve's old apartment? And a slice of pizza from that shop next door, by the dog park."

Pepper's eyes widened. "Onion, pepper, avocado white pizza with broccoli?"

"And a steak."

Instantly the two women dropped their food, and took off to collect their traveling items. Tony stood over the wreckage of their forgotten lunch and wondered whether any of it might be salvageable for himself. Natasha ate the insides of his quesadillas and left the outer rim of breading. Pepper turned hers into a tofu taco. None of the rest looked particularly edible for mortal men. He sighed dejectedly and wondered whether it might be better off to hop in the car with the girls.

"After the pizza place, we'll head down to the pretzel shop on the west end. Peter Parker's always in there, so you go inside and get me the mini bites with extra honey mustard and a pack of cheddar cheese. We can eat at the patio by Sacs and get Ice Cream at Giuseppe's."

"I think we should just by the gallon."

"You're right. Gallon."

Tony listened as the two pregnant women formulated their game plane for attacking the city's food supply on their way to the elevator. He decided it might be better if he stuck to his place and out of their firing line.

:(:):(:):

"Pancake mix."

"Aunt Jemima only, not that off brand. I don't like the off-brand."

"And syrup. I want the buttery kind. Extra butter."

"And I want the sugar-free strawberry. Don't forget the dill pickles. I want baby, kosher, Vlasic, dill pickles. Not the sweet ones."

"I want the sweet pickles, the long ones that are sandwich slices. I don't care what brand. And I want Peter Pan peanut butter, chunky, with Ritz circle crackers, the buttery kind. And I want fruit roll ups. Better buy the big box."

Steve, Bruce, Thor, and Tony all stood in front of Natasha and Pepper like a military assembly. Natasha relaxed along the couch, her swollen feet propped up on the armrest. Pepper took up Tony's chair, she had three ice packs arranged over most of her extremities and a pair of headphones stretched across the new bulge in her belly. Little "Caesar Antoine" Stark was beginning his classical music education with Bach.

The men briefly considered whether or not they should simply avoid any potential heartache and invite the girls to come along. The last time they attempted such a feat, they returned to the Tower with a whole host of inedible items for the general population of non-pregnant individuals. The men dined on anchovies and pecan ice cream for almost three days before they broke down a planned a shopping trip for themselves.

Thor, having little idea of any such items, glanced at the three others beside him. "I think I may best assist by remaining with the car."

"On second thought, we better keep Thor." Pepper decided suddenly. "I like his massages. I think I need one. Besides, you aren't supposed to be walking around on that leg yet."

Tony pointed at Thor's absent cane. "He's been walking on it for two weeks!"

"And we think he needs to keep on resting it!" Natasha argued. "What? Can't three of you handle this? What's the big deal? It's a shopping list. I'm growing a human being in my body and all you three need to do is—"

Tony lifted his hands in supplication to stem the raging hormones and hurriedly scurried away with Banner and Steve scooting off ahead of him. If they had any rational sense, they would not come home with the wrong type of pickles.

:(:):(:):

"Aldrich."

"As in your weird ex who attempted to murder me and kidnapped you? No."

"Ambrose."

"Isn't that some nasty type of dessert?"

"No, that's ambrosia."

"Still, no."

"Brindley."

"Where are you even finding these names?!" Tony shot forward from his seat and spied over Pepper's shoulder at the computer screen. "Preppy baby names? Pepper, we want a smart kid, not a psychotic future crime lord."

Pepper gave him a withering look. "We are not naming him Ozzy."

"Still circling the wagons?" Steve asked, stepping into the living room. Since Tony learned the sex of the baby, Pepper and he had gone over and over the same argument. What to name the baby. For Pepper, a name held every possibility in the world. For Tony, it was a stepping stone until he came up with his own nickname. Like Iron Lad. Watching them go back and forth day by day had become increasingly entertaining. Natasha observed from her procured arm chair. A plate of spaghetti balanced on her growing belly. Her baby-naming days were over.

"Just name him Hank," the Black Widow said, winking in Steve's direction.

"Hank and Henry?" Tony asked, "That's terrible. I'm already planning to call your kid Hank."

"Your kid," Natasha corrected, skewering a meatball.

That was a conversation they always let pass. In some part of the Avenger's minds, they hoped Natasha might decide to keep Clint and her only child. At first Pepper wasn't sure how to feel about setting her sights on raising two babies, then losing one when Natasha's mind _did_ change. Tony and she discussed it late one night should just such the time occur. They were prepared for anything. As of now, Natasha remained steadfastly against motherhood. She dejectedly watched her weight increase, her stomach pouch out, and endured only two other ultrasounds following the first. The Widow had agreed on Castillo as a primary care doctor, however, and that alone became a step in the right direction.

Bruce spent the majority of his time at the Tower, but with the deliveries only a month away he'd taken more stringent hours at the hospital and his classes. Princeton accepted him back instantly, despite his time constraints. Any university in the world would take the great hero of the Galactus War, the man who single handedly finished the equations to send the _Bethlehem Star_ into the sky. It was easy for them to forget the influence of the Sarhorns.

After teaming up with Dr. Castillo and his old mentor, Dr. Lindsey, Bruce took every night shift available in Mercy Hope's maternity ward. He had his crash course in labor and delivery, even jumping in on multiple C-sections to better his own comfort at the future rushing toward them. While he would never agree to be the sole man in charge the day Pepper or Natasha decided to pop, he planned to at least be the level-headed one in the group. Fortunately, Lindsey trusted him as an experienced physician.

"Homer."

"No."

"Sebastian."

"No."

"Cory."

"No."

"Brant."

"No."

Rogers headed into the kitchen and poured himself a bowl of cereal. He didn't dare touch the left over spaghetti Natasha had deigned to make for herself. She'd gotten used to his cooking lately, subpar as it was. Part of her even pretended to enjoy it. While nothing Steve did made up for the fact that Clint was not around to do all of those things he'd taken on himself, it eased his mind to be that support in Clint's place. After their heart-to-heart a few months ago, Natasha nearly refused to accept any more of his kind gestures, but Steve could be persuasive, when he wanted to be. In some ways his attention became his penance. How things might change when the baby came, he didn't rightly know. He owed an answer to himself on that exact point, and also to Sif. For now, she waited for his grief to subside. Asgardians could take months, years to mourn their dead. It was refreshing to have time to make up his mind.

"You know, Steve is a wonderful, strong, manly name," he pipped in.

Both Natasha and Tony turned to their friend and echoed, "No."

"I have heard a great many children following this war will be named Thor," the Asgardian stated. He stood at Pepper's back, massaging her shoulders. It became his duty the minute the women realized his incredible gift for working out knotted muscles. Years of living together and all this time, they had missed out.

"Good for them. I am not having mini Thor and Hank," Tony said. "I think—"

"AC for a first name and DC for a middle name is not happening while I am the one carrying this baby."

"You will give birth before we have a name for this baby."

From his own armchair, Bruce thumbed through a copy of "_What to Expect When You're Expecting_". He had contributed little to the conversation thus far, instead engrossing himself on the peculiarities of cravings, expected weight gain, and such of the like. Without really bothering to removed his nose from the book, he added his own take, "When I legally changed my name to Bruce, I didn't want to be one of those people without a middle name. So I picked one."

Natasha set her fork down to focus her attention on him. Now that the topic presented itself, she had to admit not knowing Bruce's middle name at all. She raked her memory, recalling files and old field reports but all the while drew blank after blank. She'd always assumed he simply didn't have one. "Let me guess. Bruce Thor Banner?"

He laughed, thumbed through another page, one with an apparent sideways illustration for her turned the book a full ninety degrees to scrutinize it. "In fact, no. I wanted something different from my family. I grabbed a phone book, flipped through all the pages and just shot-gunned a name right out of the middle. I picked Ben. I thought it was funny to have all B's. I never got a B on anything in my life but I had to write it down every time I did a test or graded something. B, B, B. I thought it was funny at the time."

Tony leaned forward with his elbow on his knee. "You named yourself Bruce Ben Banner?"

The scientist shrugged. "I thought I was being clever."

"I like Ben," Natasha said, returning to her second dinner.

"I do too. Benjamin." Pepper tested the word, thinking what it might be like to say it, day in and day out. "Benjamin Stark."

"I like it if you like it," Tony acquiesced. He didn't mind naming a child after his best friend, especially after all they'd done for each other in the years. "Better call the Thing. Don't want him getting any ideas of us naming a baby after him."

* * *

DAW!

So there they are, kids! Henry Barton and Benjamin Stark! OH the kind of boys they'll be!


	47. Chapter 45

Ok, so this will be the LAST chapter of the night! Be sure to start at chapter 43!

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Chapter 45

Natasha felt the change. One minute she was standing in the hallway, considering the old bedroom Clint once had in Avengers Tower and the next a tight fist landed against her back and circled her abdomen before it finished with a kick right to her pelvis. The dramatic spasm caught her by surprise at first. A wave of terror stole into her mind and the panic came galloping behind it. She knew what women said when this happened. _It's time_. Two little words that had the potential to change her life forever. This was it. The big moment. No longer would she be waddling around the world with Clint's only family growing steadily inside her. It was time to come out. Time to panic, rush to the hospital, feel the pain, and sit under the heavy stares of friends and doctors who waited expectantly for her to produce the prodigal child. She found herself slipping into Clint's room and closing the door. The spasm didn't last but she had the keen impression it wasn't going to be long before the next one hit her.

Some first time mothers had their children swiftly, within an hour. Some took longer. One woman told her it took two days for her first boy to come screaming into the world. Did Natasha still have time to stop this? To pretend everything wasn't going to change that same day?

A fear she couldn't imagine stole into her soul. All the doctors, friends, family, they prepared her for the happiness of motherhood and the difficulty of the labor she'd inevitably experience. None of them mentioned that terror. The one that made her want to squeeze her knees against one another and keep Clint's child inside even a day longer. She wasn't going to be a mother. That was decided the day she found out about the child she and Clint shared. A woman like her didn't deserve motherhood in her opinion. Tony and Pepper could handle this in a way Natasha never could. That was the plan. That was her only plan.

Natasha leaned her sore back against the wall and looked in at Clint's mostly abandoned place. He kept so few things in this room after he moved into Avengers Mansion and his home in New Jersey. It still smelled like him. That faint tone of spice, carbon fiber, and leather.

"Clint, I can't do this," Natasha whispered to the air like a prayer. "I couldn't do this with you, and I can't do it alone. I don't know what to do."

The clamped fist traveled down her spine again until it squeezed her abdomen. _Tighter, harder, more painful than before_, she told herself. She couldn't just stay in Clint's room, alone, and deliver the baby herself on the floor. Whether she liked it or not, this was happening.

Natasha swallowed back the fear and slowly, meticulously, caged up those emotions trying to overrun her mind. She explained them away with words like hormones, stress, and pain. Human emotions that a Black Widow did not experience. She was stronger than that. By the third contraction, she began to feel the pain a little less. Her world came back into a finite focus and it was time to move. Clint wasn't coming to save her, hold her, or love her ever again. She was in this alone, for better or worse, and it was time to woman up and do what had to be done. Pushing off the wall, Natasha turned away from Clint's old belongings and headed down the hall for the elevator. Her emergency hospital bag was already in the car downstairs.

"Tasha?"

As she passed the living room, Steve called out to her. She slowed for a moment to consider him.

"You ok?"

A fake smile fell over her like a perfectly planned mask. "Of course. I'm going out. I'll be back in a few hours." The plan had once been all hands on deck. Tony would drive her to the hospital while Steve stayed behind to gather Pepper, Bruce, and Thor. Together they would meet at New York General's Mercy Hope Delivery Center and the baby watch would begin. Natasha wasn't sure why she decided to change her mind now.

"Need someone to go along?" Steve offered. He tried too hard to seem nonchalant sometimes. It was almost painful to watch. He'd spoken with Sif only a few days before. The Asgardian warrior chanced to descend from the Bifrost to see him, distance between them apparently too much for as long as he'd been away. Natasha wasn't sure how she'd feel seeing them together. Jealously had always been a fault of hers but suddenly it changed. She liked Sif, and always had. The Asgardian had held out most of her life for Thor to come back to his senses and marry one of his own race. Without him, she had a chance to see clearly for once, and the person standing right in front of her had been Steve. Natasha had to admit, they looked good together.

Natasha began moving for the elevator again before the next contraction gave her up. "Not going for long. Don't wait up," she called over her shoulder, ending the conversation.

What lay before her, Natasha did not particularly plan on enjoying. A product of the Russian Black Widow experiment meant she'd been given more than the standard treatment as an operative. Steve Rogers might have been the first super soldier, but Natasha and her team were the next generation. On top of her remarkable healing factors and agility, she also possessed a high pain tolerance. That would be put to the ultimate test in the trial to come.

_Trial_, she thought to herself, slipping behind the steering wheel of her borrowed car. Trial was a good word for it. Emotionally she had to disconnect from the process and step back into a role that made sense for her to cope. She couldn't truly face the reality before her. Clint left her a single mother, waiting to give birth like Natasha never knew she could, to a child who must inevitably look like him in some ways. She'd have to stare into the face of that baby, hold its hand, consider its needs, and watch for those little idiosyncrasies of Clint to start trickling out. Every laugh, smile, and comment would remind her of the man she'd lost forever. Only one person in her life held the ability to break her, and that was Clint Barton. How much more could his only son do it? It wouldn't be fair. Not to Henry and not to her.

This was a trial. She only had to endure this process of labor and delivery, gift the baby away to Tony and Pepper, and be seen forever as the kind aunt instead of the abandoning mother. Clint might be disappointed if he was still alive. He'd certainly convince her out of the self-deprecating opinion of herself. But the fact remained that Clint Barton was dead and Natasha couldn't do something like this without him.

Her movements became robotic, as if a mission had been dropped in her lap and it was time to complete it at last. A nine month long, strenuous, toll on her body that might take a few hours of agonizing pain to be rid of, but at least that would be it. Confinement over. She could be Natasha Romanov, Black Widow, again. A few hours didn't seem so long in the scheme of things.

Natasha parked in the short-term lot of the hospital, grabbed her emergency bag from the trunk, and walked inside. Decades learning to hide pain served her well on this occasion. She'd almost completely suppressed the thought of her quickening contractions. Dr. Castillo had her OBGYN team on standby whenever Natasha inevitably arrived. Black Widow operatives weren't typical patients for that service. They couldn't process medication like normal physiology humans. They knew most pain medications had to be on a constant drip in order to touch her. For that reason, Natasha decided to deliver without drugs. If they were hardly going to help, why waste them?

She signed her false name at the front desk of the ward and slid her Avengers ID card across to the nurse. It only took a few minutes for Dr. Castillo herself to arrive and sweep Natasha up to her friends in the Mercy Grace. Even the patients in this hospital had the potential to out her secret. The free world wasn't ready to hear that their hero, Clint Barton, might have a child. Natasha didn't want that status hanging over the baby's life. Being raised by Tony Stark was enough to make anyone spoiled. There was no need to help that along by adding teams of paparazzi and news crews.

"No one with you?" Dr. Castillo asked in curiosity. She helped pull Natasha's bag off her shoulder and set it in the chair beside the hospital bed. They'd entered a private room in a sleepy corner of the hospital, well away from the excitement bustling everywhere else.

"I decided to come alone," Natasha replied easily.

"If an emergency comes up, is it all right if I call . . ." Castillo fished for a name, someone who might be cool under pressure and not be swept up in the reality of everything going on. "Steve?"

"I think Steve is liable to pass out on the floor." Natasha smirked, disrobed unabashedly, and fitted the hospital gown on. She slipped easily back into her Black Widow persona. This was a mission. Only a mission. And soon she would be done.

"Pepper?" Castillo offered next. She took the folded clothes Natasha offered her and set them in a chair. She recognized this apathetic woman across from her. Castillo had considerable experience with the entire Avengers team. While Natasha did not often land on her exam table, she had been a fixture of late as she progressed in her pregnancy.

"Pepper's ready to pop herself." Natasha scooted onto the hospital bed back first and sat up. "If you are desperate for an emergency contact, then do the free world a favor and call Bruce. He might Hulk out of the phone, but he'll be clear headed after he gets here. He's been practicing."

Castillo smiled at that and set a few more things out on her supply stand. "You are in luck. Apparently there is a mass of new moms in this hospital today. So much so that a few of us extra folks have been pulled from special duties to apply our midwife roots again." Castillo sat on the end of the bed with Natasha's file in her hand. "No one will think it strange if I stay. I've delivered six babies since last night. Technically my shift is over, but since my replacement is already here, I'm going to stick around and be your primary if you prefer."

A flicker of happiness broke through Natasha's emotional barricade. It took her a few minutes to beat it back into submission. "I would like that," she said.

Castillo rubbed her knee gently. "Don't worry. You are the strongest woman I know and if anyone can conquer this, it's you. Let me get a couple of the best girls on this floor and let's see where you are at. This will all be over before you know it."

Another piece of mortar fell from Natasha's façade before she had a chance to replace it. She wanted to burst into tears, but she didn't know why. _Hormones_, that little voice reminded her tentatively,_ it will all be over soon._

"Does Tony know what he's going to name him?" Castillo asked.

"Maybe Henry, after Clint's grandfather. He was a hero in World War II. Clint didn't know him but we heard such wonderful things about him once," Natasha supplied.

"I think Henry is a very nice name. What if Clint surprises everyone and it's a girl?"

Natasha always knew the baby was a boy. She wasn't sure why. It just didn't seem logical any other way. Though she thought very little of a boy's name, she thought even less of a girl. A girl meant it might be like her. It may have her hair, her body, and her eyes . . . things Natasha didn't want. This was Clint's child, not hers.

"I'm not sure." Natasha admitted.

Dr. Castillo nodded. "I'm sure whatever is chosen will be just perfect. How far are the contractions apart?"

"Every five minutes."

"Water break?"

"No."

"The last time we did your ultrasound . . ." Castillo rechecked her file to be sure the date was correct. "The baby was breach. Has there been any change since?"

"I don't think so."

"Ok, we'll check and see then. If we need to, we'll try some of those things we discussed to get the baby turned around. I'll be right back. If you need anything, hit the call button. I'm going to let the nurses know I've taken over this case so no one else comes down here to bother you. If you change your mind and decide to have someone here, just let me know." She stood with the file dropping beside her leg.

Natasha didn't plan on that happening, but she nodded all the same. It was time to get this over with.

* * *

OMG

it's happening. the day has come. Baby Barton arriving in the world and NO ONE KNOWS ABOUT IT! Poor Natasha, now we kind of see why it is she can't face being a mother. grief is such a terrible thing.

please review:)


	48. Chapter 46

Um...so...BONUS~~~~~~~~~~~ Because I forgot i sent 3 chapters to my lovely editors last and not 2, so here you go! hahahahahaha

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**I Can Hear the Drums**

Chapter 46

Dr. Castillo stood at the nurse's station as she worked her way through a few of the labor and delivery forms. Natasha had skipped over most of the paperwork, but Castillo knew her and the Avengers well enough to complete the necessary information herself. She had some time to wait while the second OBGYN team worked to get Romanov's backwards baby into the proper delivery position. The last thing she wanted today was to end her shift with a natural, breech delivery. Medications to get the baby turned had little to no effect on the super-soldier Avenger and while they attempted other noninvasive techniques over the past few weeks, nothing seemed to change the baby's mind on coming out butt-first.

"Figures a child of Clint Barton would be so stubborn," she whispered to herself as she finished the emergency contacts. Her next order of business was to order up an E.R. If the baby began to show the smallest signs of distress, she had to consider a cesarean. It was the last thing anyone wanted. Natasha naturally didn't take anesthesia well. The attempt would turn their steady-handed anesthesiologist into a chain smoker by the end of it. If they did end up on that slippery slope, she may need to be under general anesthesia, which would put the baby in additional distress.

"Henry Barton. Trouble before you even get out. Shouldn't be surprised." Castillo said to herself.

"How is she, doc?"

Castillo jumped, losing some of her papers over the counter top and onto the lap of her nurse. She shot a look over her shoulder and saw Tony Stark standing at her back. He looked like death took him off the earth ten days ago, and someone just happened to resurrect him.

"Mr. Stark! You look horrible, what happened?" Castillo exclaimed. Then, suddenly she realized exactly why he arrived. Natasha must have changed her mind and called him.

"She kicked me out. I was making her nervous. I'm making me nervous. I wanted to drive. Steve had to drive. I couldn't find my keys." Tony stuck his hands into his pockets, found something, and extracted it. "Oh, look. I found my keys. I could have driven."

Castillo gave him a warm, forgiving, smile. "Mr. Stark, given the state you're in, I think it was for everyone's benefit that you didn't. Is Captain Roger's with her now?"

"They're doing something to her. She kicked him out too. I think I might faint. Do guys get contractions? I think I'm feeling one. A big one." Tony swayed on his feet, caught the counter in his hand and went impossibly paler. Castillo left her forms and eased him against her. Together they glided into the waiting room where Tony fell into one of the chairs and began to consider hyperventilation.

"Men can occasionally commiserate with the feelings of a woman in labor, yes. And I've seen it a few times too. What I need you to do is try and take a deep breath and not pass out in my waiting room. I have enough freaked out fathers up on this floor without you setting them off." She leaned forward, stole a cup from the water cooler, filled it and passed it to him.

Tony drank it like a shot of whiskey, which he most likely needed. "She was fine like two hours ago. We were having dinner, and then… Gush! It just all came out, and I was sitting two feet away from her. And her eyes get really big and I didn't know what to do, so I started to scream and then she started to scream—"

Castillo straightened. She checked her watch. Natasha had been in the hospital for almost four hours already. There was no way she'd been out with Tony after then. Her mouth began to open, to question him a little further about just who they were talking about when Steve rounded the corner of the waiting room. He had an overnight case in his hand that looked distinctly similar to something that Pepper Stark might carry, but not Natasha Romanov.

"Dr. Castillo! Great to see you. Nurse Biehl said you were around someplace. You have a special patient tonight?" Steve asked, holding out his hand to shake hers.

Castillo shook, and then carefully crossed her arms over her chest. "I see. Yes. A special patient. I'm putting in a little overtime. Mrs. Stark is here?"

"Yeah, if you can believe it. She's ready for this to be over so she can fit her shoes again. She didn't want to come so early, but things seemed to be moving pretty fast, so we weren't sure we should wait until the contractions quickened up," Steve replied. For a man Natasha had been so concerned would completely lose his cool in the face of a woman in labor, Steve appeared to have himself in control. Tony, however, was a different story.

"I'll poke in and tell her hello when I go back up. I'm sure she'd be happy to see a friendly face. Has anyone called Dr. Banner?" Castillo's mind jumped to stay on top of her actions. If Natasha planned to go through this alone and just waltz back home with Tony and Pepper's new baby, that might get spoiled with the hospital swarming in Avengers. She was happy to have left Natasha's file on the counter. Steve might not think of himself as a spy, but he had eyes like a hawk. Undoubtedly he'd have seen Natasha's name written down. Pepper and Natasha both going into labor the same day? What were the odds of that?

"Bruce!" Tony exclaimed. "I didn't call Bruce! He's in class, there's no way he'll get here in time! I have to fly down—"

Steve dropped Pepper's back and used one strong arm to keep Tony planted in his seat. "You are not stealing the helicopter to fly down to Princeton. He is one hour away, if he doesn't speed. And something tells me, he won't even take a car. I'll call him. How fast do you think this takes? We might be here for a few hours at least."

_A few hours,_ Castillo thought to herself. _That was an understatement._ Pepper planned to stay overnight, Natasha was required to at the very least. Super-healing or not she was incredibly high risk. Then there was always the neonates. Keeping those two worlds from colliding would be nearly impossible.

It had to be done. She knew Natasha felt a terrible guilt over Clint Barton's death. Why exactly those feelings occurred, she never shared, but that wasn't Dr. Castillo's area of expertise. Any number of things might have happened in that war, even a falling out between the husband and wife. She'd made up her mind early on to never be a mother to her child, and that was a decision Castillo didn't understand, but respected. If she wanted to go through this alone, then Castillo was going to do everything she could to keep the Avengers separated.

One of the nurses approached the ring and smiled at the Avengers before focusing on the doctor. "Dr. Castillo? Ms. Romanov is asking for you."

Castillo's saucer-sized eyes snapped to Steve and Tony. Had they heard?

"Natasha?" Tony demanded. If someone held a sheet of paper beside him, he might completely disappear into the color.

Castillo pressed her lips together and threw mental daggers at her nurse. Understanding the sudden fallout he'd wrought, the man swiftly scurried back to the nurse station to hide.

"Is she really here?" Steve breathed.

"Now, look you two. She doesn't want—"

Tony sprang out of his chair and took off at a dead sprint up the hallway. He might have no idea where he was running, but he'd continue to race around the hospital until he found exactly where they'd hidden Natasha away. Castillo knew better than to try and catch him, or even stop him. He was far from being in his right mind at this point. As a man, having two children at the same time by two different women, he had every right to freak out.

Castillo looked at Steve for support. "Captain, there is a reason she came without saying anything. She would prefer to do this her own way. We can both agree she is an independent woman and more than capable of handling herself, even in this situation. Captain?"

Steve was frozen in place. He had Pepper's bag resting on the floor, the strap limp in one hand while the other remained extended as if to continue holding down the now escaped Tony Stark. His eyes glazed over and for all she knew he had gone completely catatonic. Castillo leaned toward him and pressed down on his extended arm, but she couldn't move it. He was as frozen as a Central Park statue.

"Lovely," she sighed. So, Natasha wasn't far from the mark when she said Steve couldn't handle the idea of her going into labor. She found Tony's cell phone had slipped from his pocket onto the waiting room chair. She picked it up, decided not to waste another minute bringing Steve Rogers around, and headed off to the nurses' station to pick up Natasha's file. The faulty coworker slipped behind the file wall to avoid her deadly gaze.

:(:):(:):

Tony rushed through the OBGYN halls, opening doors at random and being chased out by nearly every man or woman who didn't happen to recognize him. He'd swept in and out of twelve rooms, came upon Pepper again, who held her arms out, smiling and expecting him to go bounding too her, but was sorely disappointed when Tony left again with the door slamming behind him. He headed down another wing, gasping and panting as his too-tense muscles threatened to shatter under the mental anguish.

Clint. That was all he could think about. His best friend. His brother. Clint's family was coming into the world, for a second time, and Tony was going to do everything he could to keep Clint's child safe. His first daughter died in isolation, alone, behind a wall of plastic, tubes, and large and impersonal monitors. She died hours before her mother, in this same exact hospital from that horrible virus which once crippled the entire galaxy after Galactus came. Clint never got to see them before they died. He was struggling himself on that viral edge and just happened to be lucky enough to live.

Not this time. This time Tony was going to see that offspring of Barton into the world and become a bulldog of protection. He'd make the child live in a bubble if he had to. Build a miniature Iron Man suit. Little Henry Barton was going to have everything his father ever wanted for him and more. He had a whole family, a brotherhood, waiting to welcome him in.

Tony threw open another door and took a couple strides inside. Lying sideways in the bed, a mop of red hair shot up and instantly screamed, "TONY, GET OUT!"

"Natasha!" Stark cried, exploding in excitement. He rushed toward her, and consequently right in the line of fire. She hurled a tray at him. He took a direct hit to the side of his face and went crashing to the floor, dragging the supply stand down with him.

"I DIDN'T ASK FOR YOU! GET OUT OF MY ROOM!" Natasha continued to scream.

Something smacked into Tony's back as he crawled hand-over hand for the door. A final unidentified object connected with his leg as Tony escaped through the door and closed it behind himself. He glanced up and saw Dr. Castillo looking down at him.

"If you had waited a few minutes, I might have said that she doesn't want to see anyone," she said.

"I don't get it. We were going to do this together for him. I just want to help," Tony said. He spun around, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall.

"It's called labor. Honestly, I've seen this more often than you know. She'll be just fine when this is done. Do everyone a favor and call Bruce. Get him up here. I won't even yell at you for using your cellphone."

"It's just, with his first—"

Castillo squatted down beside him. "I know, Tony."

His face flushed the first color she'd seen in him. "It's all we have left of him."

Her throat constricted seeing the depth of emotion affecting him. "I know."

"I'll call Bruce." He patted down his pockets, to feel his phone out, but ended up with nothing but his set of keys. Without missing a beat, Castillo produced it. Bruce's number was already put into the call box. He hit the send key.

:(:):(:):

"If a patient is suffering from a lesion in area one, or between cervical vertebrae one and six, the patient can suffer a different set of reflexes from the impairment of upper motor neuron pathways. The way to break down the diagnostic techniques of patients suffering this disability starts with a general physical exam, which you would hope the referring general practitioner managed before the patient ended up in your advanced neurological care. I always recommend repeating a physical exam to be sure—"

A phone went off in the lecture hall, interrupting Bruce's carefully laid out speech. He considered continuing on, but the volume of the device was just enough to make the laughing students too much to talk over. He glanced around for the reflection of a guilty face. A few of the students, sleeping in the front row no less, stumbled awake and grasped blindly into their bags.

He had a large class today, over nine hundred had signed up for his normally eight hundred-strong advanced neurology clinical course in Princeton's now booming doctorate program. Bruce virtually invented the section in the university and since coming back to Earth enjoyed a position as a full-time "visiting" professor. His schedule as an Avenger and part time Hulk kept him running all over the world at any given moment. Since he entertained an illustrious career as one of the greatest minds in neuroscience and gene transfer, Princeton administration did whatever they could to endure his schedule commitments. There was a mile long list of other schools and private institutions lined up to snatch Bruce next should he ever go back on the academic market.

On top of the students, he had two hundred other colleagues visiting from across the globe for his week-long lecture series. Already in day seven, he'd gotten most of the ground breaking material out of the way in the first few lectures. Today he was presenting a personal case, though most of the audience was unaware of it. Spinal disorders were near and dear to his heart after Tony Stark had been hanged by a Kree warrior years back. He had a full, miraculous, recovery since then. This made Tony a medical marvel that attracted attention from the thousand plus men and women in the room.

The phone continued to ring until everyone shuffled around in their seats and checked their own devices. Sitting beside the Dean of Students, Betty Ross smiled and caught his attention. The post-war baby boom had hit her the way it was roaring through most of Earth's population. Bruce could do little more than sigh and contemplate the deficiencies in his life when she announced her pregnancy, with twins no less.

Her husband, sitting just beside her, motioned to the podium. Taking their cue, Bruce looked down. He hardly got calls during class hours. Avengers Mansion knew the top heroes were not taking up cases yet. He turned the phone over, apologizing to the chuckling audience. He noticed Tony's number and sent the call to voicemail.

"Apologies. Sometimes duty calls, and sometimes you make them call Thor instead," Bruce said.

The crowd politely laughed.

With Tony's call safely rerouted, he hit the silent key and left the phone by the podium. He accelerated through the next slide of his lecture and dove back in. "So where were we? Oh, physical exam. Yes, so you always want to perform your own, in depth, physical concurrent to your neurological assessment. I have seen multiple patients referred to me for neurological maladies who had a cancerous growth, or cardiologic dysfunction, or pulmonary disease that may prove more pressing than the patient's ability to feel a finger or walk a straight line. The patient must come first. Don't become blindsided by your need to solve their—"

Five hundred unsilenced cellphones all chimed simultaneously in a cacophony of sound. Even the department chair, associate dean, and collage president shifted in their seats to uncover their own devices and glare into the screens.

"I do hope that is not a campus alert saying there's a meteor planning on landing in Princeton," Bruce said, looking around for any confirmation.

A few students elbowed each other, displaying their phones and the received text message. The Betty stood and scrambled up to the stage, handing over her phone for Bruce to read.

Bruce saw the first line and signed. "Tony Stark. I'm not surprised. Everyone get excited, yes Iron Man did just text you. I actually got a few extra slides in before he hacked your signals. He must be getting slow. I'll be sure to tell him that." Bruce grabbed his glasses from the podium and fit them on as he took the cell phone and read the message.

CODE STORK: COME NOW: DO NOT STOP FOR BAGELS: I BROUGHT SPARE CLOTHES

An overwhelming excitement threw Bruce's heart into a jackhammer pace almost instantly. He grabbed the wooden pedestal to keep from tipping right over. Today was the day. Either Natasha or Pepper was having the big one and Tony needed his support. Without a second thought, Bruce began grabbing his items off of the podium and handed them, his bag, and his outer shirt to Betty.

"I apologize everyone, but I am apparently about to become an uncle! We will pick up where I left off on Monday. There is still an exam next Thursday. I expect everyone's reports on demyelination of axons associated with the UIC-1 complex by Wednesday 5p.m. Late work will not be accepted, and yes it does still count as half of your grade. No, 5:01 is not 5:00pm." He hopped toward the door first on one foot and then the next as he pulled his dress shoes off and left them in a trail along the floor. His teaching assistant jumped out of her seat and rushed to collect them up. Like a wave, the lecture hall flooded out, if only to get a glimpse of the world's foremost neuroscientist turn into a massive, green rage monster.

* * *

bahahahahaha! Tony Army crawling to safety, Bruce being awesome. Steve...just Steve... Avenger's babies are going to be like herding cats!

So, i'm going to be in-house these coming weeks at the vet school which means I will have classes all day and will be sleeping mostly on campus, on a cot, in the cold of a barn alleyway all night while waking up every 1 1/2 hours to check pateints. So that's why I kinda wanted to blast you with updates while I had the chance.

PLEASE REVIEW! don't forget this kindly little step. I need it to feed my happiness:)


	49. Chapter 47

three chapters tonight!

khaitosfren: Daw, they are all just so cute!

amy. .9: Thank goodness Tony has Pepper! i think he needs her more than the other way around!The Red Room really did destroy her happiness.

discordchick: who has a jump on all of us? you do! :D My favorite part was Tony's army crawl. Just too perfect!

JRBarton: I shall shatter all the hearts i find and laugh every moment of it!

Guest: BAHAHAHA oh yes, it's all connected, even the names I formulate seemingly from nothing:)

5mairer: Get excited!

Batghost: It really does seem Father of the Bride, doesn't it? Never realized it before!

Fury-Natalia:all your questions on her motherhood will now be answered!

Ms. Hawkeye: DAW! I don't mind half-awake reviews!

* * *

Chapter 47

Thor held Mjolnir by its leather strap and absently let the hammer swing front to back like a pendulum. The lights were dark in the room, hoping to allow the form in the bed a few hours of peace and quiet with which to rest. He could never imagine experiencing such a trial himself, but fortunately had attended to Volstagg's wife occasionally during her confinements and labor. Volstagg could never find himself by such a sick bed.

He knew Natasha wished to remain unseen, alone, and greet the newest life without assistance or direct support from those who she counted as family. While there were many things in life that did not affect her sensibility as a woman, this one private thing did. He respected that in her. Natasha asked so very little from them since returning to the Tower. She endured every attempt to assist her, every suggestion to rest rather than fight, and each troublesome effect the difficult pregnancy had on her. If she chose to retain her privacy now, he would not judge her for it. Pepper, on the other hand, progressed well. She had reached the breaking point of Tony's panic early on and for everyone's sanity he'd been banished from the room. Steve Rogers had been guided to a chair. He remained in the same catatonic shock as when the news first hit him like a blow from Mjolnir.

"Who is it?" the form in the bed asked.

Thor stopped swinging. He was standing on the other side of a maroon curtain draped around the bed, he didn't dare cross to the other side, but being in the room was enough for him.

"Thor," he said.

"I don't want to see anyone."

"And you will not," Thor replied. From his side of the curtain he tugged the fabric once to indicate his meaning. "I would not intrude on your privacy, but as they said you needed rest, and I do not find you much comforted sleeping under the gaze of strangers, I came myself to warden over you."

Natasha's small voice asked, "Tony?"

"I would not allow him in. He lies, near death, a door away in his overwhelming excitement. Our captain joins him, no better off, I fear."

Natasha laughed a little. "I guess that's not a surprise."

"Friend Banner stays with our sister. They believe soon she may offer the Stark heir."

Natasha didn't reply at first. He tried not to listen as she experienced a forceful contraction that left her breathless for a few moments. Looking around, he discovered an arm chair and backed away to sit. He placed Mjolnir at the floor between his feet. Rather than wait for her to formulate a response, or to ask him to leave, he decided to speak again.

"I do not believe I ever mentioned the first time I met Clint of Barton. It was summer here, and I had just fought a mighty battle against a man who thought he may prevent me from acquiring Mjolnir. My father had banished me to Earth for my foolishness, a fact I resented him for but now understand the validity of." Thor lifted Mjolnir off the ground, as if to prove to himself he still could, and set it back down. "I was angry, full of hate and worthlessness. The SHIELD men came to take me and I offered no resistance. I suppose one of them begrudged my ability to break his nose and he felt it necessary to repay that. I did not attempt to stop his assault on me, so when he was pulled away, I happened to look up. It rained torrentially. The skies opened with thunder-less clouds as if taunting my inability to wield the lightning. Through the rain and darkness I saw a hand extend to me. Despite all I had obviously done, it was not enough to waylay this warrior from offering his assistance. He did not speak his name then, I only learned later that it was Clint of Barton."

Thor looked up at the curtain between Natasha and himself. He wondered if she'd been able to find sleep again, or if she couldn't listen for fear of her emotions. It was impossible to know until she said more. He decided to continue on.

"He has retained such a wondrous might and legend among my people. Clint of Barton, Archer of Midgard, Brother of Asgard, Wielder of Sleiphner's Bow and Mjolnir, Friend of Odin, Pytr Heidir the Howling Hawk, Rellya . . ." Thor knew all of the titles because in the ceremony he presided over in Asgard he spoke every single one of them. He closed his eyes, a heavy burden settling against him again. "His son shall have every title bestowed upon his father. He is as welcome to my realm as Clint of Barton always was."

To that Natasha still had nothing to say. Thor consider continuing on, perhaps speaking about the second time he met Clint when she suddenly spoke. "Thor, what if I decide . . ." her voice trailed, quiet and contemplative.

He imagined he knew what it was she failed to say. "Your decision is your own. Whether you plan to mother a child, or not. I will have you know, that by my strength you shall never be far from the life coming when this interment ends. If running is your object, you will not succeed."

She laughed, adjusted herself in the bed, and decided to change the subject. "Tell me about the Frost Giant War."

Thor smiled. "Which one? The first, where my grandfather, Bor, fought the ancestor of Loki? The second, where my father, Odin, was saved by the now deceased King Rinon from the spear of a Frost Giant?"

"The one when Clint and you went off together. Before the rest of us got there. What did he do? Where did he go?"

The Asgardian leaned back in the chair and crossed one knee over the other. He laid his head on the seat back and recalled the events from years past. "That is the third great war, though I think all of us will agree it lasted for a considerably shorter amount of time than the others. What occurs now between Muspelheim and that frozen realm will surely be considered the fourth. The Frost Giants were once a mighty race. Ever challenging the authority of my father. During those days, after the death of Laufey by my brother, their ranks fell into disarray and war. They were influence by the ministrations of a woman known as Amora the Enchantress. . ."

As Thor's voice continued on, the day began to turn into night. It had been five hours since Natasha's initial admittance and though considerable progress has been made, it wasn't enough to reassure Dr. Castillo of her success in delivering naturally. The baby was still breach, and every effort to get him to turn failed. They were getting close to her needing to push and the surgical team remained on standby should the worst be decided. In general the attempt to deliver a breech baby naturally was almost heresy.

Down the hall, in the more bustling end of the hospital, Pepper had progressed as her initial glee at being in the final stages of labor to the knock-down, drag-out rage at the "man who dared put his woman in this situation", to quote her opinion. No one reminded her that she'd accomplished this feat by IVF.

Tony dragged himself out of his unresponsive disbelief long enough to stand at her side, allow his fingers to be crushed, and watch in abject terror as the child he fathered made its way into the world. Bruce flanked Pepper's right in the only real support of a birth coach. Though his heart rate threatened to produce a Hulk-out at any moment, he somehow maintained his composure enough to complete this monumental task with her.

Dr. Castillo stood to the side in her scrubs and gown, watching like the department head she was as her close colleague, and Pepper's midwife called all the delivery shots. It wouldn't be much longer before little Benjamin Stark went screaming into the fluorescent lighting. Castillo hadn't been present for the first Avengers' birth, Clint's first daughter with his wife Marie, but she'd heard the story often enough to know what to expect. Tony would snatch that baby up before anyone else and if they were lucky he'd let Pepper hold him for a few minutes out of the day.

A nurse came up behind her and whispered, "We need you. There's a problem."

Castillo didn't wait for the impending birth before running out. She covered the distance between Pepper's room and Natasha's in record time. The door was already waiting open for her. Thor stood to the side, not speaking but clearly full of concern. She dove through the curtain to see Natasha and instantly her mask of calm came up to guard her professional fears.

"So, how are things on this end?" she asked conversationally. She checked every monitor, removed her stethoscope, adjusted the fetal heart rate volume.

"Something's wrong. Something doesn't sound right," Natasha said quickly. Trying to push herself up.

"All right, let's just take a look at things. How far along is she now?" Castillo asked over her shoulder.

"Fully dilated just now," the orderly reported.

Natasha tensed, unable to hold back the uncustomary yelp from the full force of the contraction bearing down on her. Her mind was racing. Not right. Something had changed. The heart beat had sounded one distinct way the entire time. She'd asked them to leave the volume on, she didn't exactly know why, but she wanted desperately to hear it like the smooth tone of Thor's calm voice. Very suddenly it changed. The tempo altered, slowed, and began to drop just as the contractions hit her like never before.

"Is this normal?" she breathed between the force of them. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead. She felt as if every muscle in her body had been ripped out of her control. Castillo's face was as stony as Natasha's had once been. In the wake of Clint's child being in danger, a strange ferocity and terror welled up him her.

"Biehl?" Castillo said the name like an order in itself. "We're taking her."

Nurse Biehl disappeared instantly.

Like a dam breaking, a powerful, new kind of pain slammed into the Avenger. Beside the now unrelenting contraction, something else like her insides being torn in half, drew a scream.

Castillo turned back to Natasha while hooking the stethoscope back around her neck. She spoke hurriedly and loudly to be understood above the agony. "Now, when we discussed that if things don't look perfect, we were not going to try and deliver this baby naturally? Well that is happening. Natasha, the baby's heart rate is beginning to drop. That means he is in distress. We need to get you to the operating room right away. I am going to be in there with you, but right now I have to scrub in and get ready. This is going to happen very fast, I'm sorry if it's a lot to process."

Natasha's own heart rate spiked in time with her escalating fear. For a moment the pain left her. She forced out, "Is everything going to be ok?"

"We're going to do everything we have to," Castillo said, squeezing her arm. The nurse fit an oxygen mask over her face.

Natasha's terrified eyes caught hers. "Is my baby going to be ok?"

Without missing a beat, Castillo repeated her assurances. She didn't pause when Natasha said the word "my" or stutter when the gravity of what the one little syllable meant. It was the first time Natasha ever took a possessive stance on the child she carried. In the past it had always been Clint's, as if Natasha was somehow carrying his clone which had nothing to do with her own genetic makeup.

A surgical team flooded the room and all at once the preparations started. Castillo kept them in small numbers, nothing too overwhelming to frighten the Avenger. Only familiar faces, ones she had grown maybe not to trust but to expect. The anesthetist, a man who spent ten years working right beside Castillo on specifically super-human cases never missed a beat. He glided right over, started hanging bags, and didn't even forget to share a friendly chat about passing gas with the panicking mother in the bed.

"Thor?" Natasha called out ahead of another scream. The Asgardian approached the edge of the curtain but didn't look in.

"Get Tony. Get Bruce. I want both of them, and I want them right now!"

"I will see it done," Thor said, and rushed away. He wasted no time. He might not understand the full significance of what occurred, but he keenly felt that something dire had happened. If Natasha was in danger, Clint's heir was in danger also. That would never do. He'd sworn himself to be a guardian over that boy for the rest of his days and longer. If he must claw himself through the chains of death in order to defend the Barton heir, he would do just that.

Thor didn't knock as he burst into Tony and Pepper's room. The world had declined from the screaming, pushing, growling, guttural sounds that once consumed it and fell into an almost resounding peace. He could feel it in the air, a familiar sort of calm that always followed new life. For a moment, very briefly, he completely forgot why he had come.

Pepper sat up in the bed, a mop of freckles and strawberry hair tousled about the sweaty pillow. Tony had climbed in beside her as his arms circled her back and cradled the new child birthed into their world. A swell of sheer pride beat into Thor's chest as he strode forward and looked down into the perfectly angelic face. Bruce leaned in beside them. He grinned like a father himself.

"Benjamin Stark, meet Uncle Thor Odinson." Pepper whispered, gently tilting the scrunched and perfect face toward the Asgardian.

"Benjamin." Thor said.

"I still wanted to call him Leonard Skinner, but Pepper shot me down." Tony joked.

Pepper nudged him with an elbow.

As quickly as Thor's memory failed it came galloping back, he pulled away and hurriedly said, "Dr. Banner, Stark, you are needed at once. Something has occurred, and you've been asked for."

Bruce shot up. "What happened? Is Natasha all right?"

"I do not know, they wheel her away. She wishes you to be at her side."

Pepper slipped her hands under her new baby and gently pulled him away from his father. "Tony, go. She needs you, go."

"Is the baby all right?" Tony asked.

"I know nothing more. The heart beat seemed to be failing. They have taken her—"

Bruce rushed to a cabinet and grabbed a cap and mask down for himself and Tony. He passed them over. "C-section. I bet they're in the surgical room. Get that on your face, those on your feet, and hurry up after me. Thor—"

The Asgardian raised his hand. "I will remain here by your heir's side."

"Thank you," Tony told him, and hurried out after Bruce.

:(:):(:):

The surgical room was white and stainless steel. Three overhead lights, shrouded in sterile plastic covers highlighted the object of everyone's interest in the direct center of the room. A tall, blue drape separated Natasha's face from the lower half of her body. How desperately she wanted to see what was being done to her. She wanted to jump from the table, run from the room, hide in some dark corner and pretend that the last nine months of her life had been nothing but a dream, that she hadn't been sharing her body with another human being all this time. But the reality lay before her, ready to be filleted beneath half a dozen eyes.

"Tasha? It's Bruce. I have Tony and we're coming in."

Natasha tried to turn, to watch as they came closer, but the man sitting by her hand, feeding a constant drip of something into her catheters prevented it.

"Bruce?" she called.

Banner was hovering over her like a flash. Ignoring the man already in his way, Tony squeezed up by her opposite side and grabbed her hand in his.

"We're right here." Tony said to her, finding a swell of bravery since holding his child in his arms.

"And we aren't going," Bruce said. "Thor got us. Pepper's doing fine. You have a little nephew wailing in her arms right now, and real soon we're about to meet his new brother. Everything is going to be ok. Do you trust me?"

Natasha wasn't sure what to think when in a fit of panic she reached out to let them back in, now she realized what she had been missing. This. Bruce's steady resolve. Tony's undying loyalty. Thor's calm strength. Steve . . .

"Where's Steve?" she asked.

"Catatonic. He hasn't moved in five hours. I mean even I got up to let Pepper break my finger. But I've got two hands, and if you want to break one too, then I'm ok with that. Not really. So please don't," Tony replied with a smile.

Bruce straightened up to catch eyes with Dr. Castillo. If he had to jump in on Natasha's surgery, he was more than prepared to do just that. "What's happening, Doc?"

Castillo moved behind the surgical team and gave them room to finished their prep. Within the next five minutes, little Henry Barton was going to take his first breath. Castillo whispered behind the cover of her scrub mask to prevent alarming Natasha and Tony.

"Fetal heart rate dropped, and hers went tachycardic. Respiration is up, blood pressure is down. Constant contractions and mass pain we're managing with a CRI. I'm worried about a bleed," Castillo said.

"Placental abruption?" Bruce asked, filtering the condition down from the archives of his mind. It could be a serious condition. The placenta ruptured early, causing an external, in this case an internal, hemorrhage. The baby would lack oxygen, nutrients, and everything else that kept it alive. Not to mention Natasha risked a potential fatal bleed. He glanced around and noted the copious blood supply wheeled into the room. Castillo hadn't taken any chances. He admired her for that, it was one of the reasons he hand-picked her.

"When did you become an expert in obstetrics?" the primary surgeon, Lindsey, asked playfully, casting a friendly look over his shoulder at Banner.

"I live in a house with two pregnant women. I'm sure Tony could do a c-section in his sleep if he set his mind to it, Dr. Lindsey." Bruce replied. He liked Lindsey. The man was a no-nonsense, House sort of personality and he was darn good at what he did. Though Banner hadn't been in a delivery ward since his OBGYN rotation in medical school, he'd taken the time the last few months of working under Lindsey's guidance to become an expert at one more thing, should the need ever arise.

"I'm glad to have you on this case," Bruce told him sincerely.

"Hey, man, I just wanted a chance to get my hands all up in the Black Widow's hot bod," Lindsey replied. Gloves ready, drapes laid, and scalpel in hand, the doctor leaned over the shade separating Natasha from her lower half. "All right. We're getting started and everything is going to be just fine."

Natasha nodded. She didn't have to pretend to believe him. The anesthetist crossed over Tony's immovable arms and fit an oxygen mask over Natasha's mouth and nose. He worked out a few calculations, perhaps for the fortieth time, and adjusted the pump on an IV infuser. He gave the nod to Lindsey.

"Ok, Natasha," Castillo said. "You might feel a little drowsy. We aren't putting you under, but we are giving you some heavy, steady, sedation. Tony and Bruce are going to stay right next to you and the minute the baby comes, I'll be taking care of him… We're through the skin now. You are going to feel some tugging. If you're in pain, let us know."

Natasha inhaled sharply. The anesthetist jumped and made another adjustment. Everyone stopped, waited, and once she seemed settled enough, the work continued to Castillo's steady narration.

"The first incision is done. We're pulling some things back now. Dr. Lindsey is incising into the uterus. I see a foot! And another! He's coming out backwards if he comes out at all. Your baby is out. We've clamped the umbilical cord." Castillo's voice stopped abruptly and like a shot she disappeared across the room with the baby in her arms. Natasha felt the swoon of unfamiliar drugs in her veins fighting for dominance over her soldier serum. Disappointment sailed through that cloud. Wasn't she supposed to see him? Why had the voice stopped? Where was her baby?"

"Why isn't he crying?" Tony asked. His eyes were wide and wild. He squeezed Natasha's hand a little tighter, but stood to look around for Clint's son.

"Sh—" Lindsey cursed. Something metallic hit the floor with a clang and Bruce vaulted into action at once.

"What's happening?" Bruce demanded.

"Bleed. She's bleeding. Hang those bags! Clamp! Another clamp! Someone get me suction I can't see."

"Gown! Gloves!" Bruce demanded. The divider forgotten, Bruce pressed in on Lindsey's left to get a better look at the problem. His assumption was right. The placenta had started to tear away. Natasha's belly filled in a torrent of blood. One pair of hands wouldn't be enough to help her. One of the nurses tore open a pack for him. He slipped into the surgical gown and shoved his hands into two pairs of gloves before running back to stand opposite of Lindsey.

"You aren't scrubbed in." Lindsey told him, struggling against the limited visual to try and control the rampant bleeding.

"She's a super soldier, she doesn't get infections. She can bleed to death. Hand me that! Clamp! Lap sponges! Get the rest of that blood hanging and pump her full if you've got to! She's losing it as quick as we put it in."

"Bruce?" Tony asked, looking down at the paling, quiet, and listless Natasha. Her grip had slackened on his hand. Now only he was holding onto her.

"Tony, get out of here," Bruce told him. When Stark didn't move, Bruce looked up, the front of his gown splattered in blood. "I'm trying to save her life right now, I can't do that with you in here. Get out. Get to Pepper. I'll be out when we know something."

Tony began to back away, wondering how in the world this happy, though frantic moment had suddenly boiled down to a life a death struggle. His eyes cut across the room to find Clint's baby. He could see at once the color wasn't right. It was too blue, too grey. Like a dying or dead creature. There was a tube down the baby's throat and someone pressed occasional, small breaths into the tiny lungs. Someone else thumped down on the baby's chest impossibly fast. Not breathing. No heartbeat. As he backed away, he was passed by the nurses and Dr. Castillo rushing off with Clint's child on a gurney.

It was a girl.

As quickly as she came, she was gone again, being rushed off to some part of the hospital he couldn't hope to follow them to. He exited the doors behind the cluster of nurses. When he collapsed this time, it wasn't out of excitement, it was pure fear. The look of that baby's eyes, rolled back toward the ceiling like massive blue saucers outlined in purplish grey skin. Limp, unconscious, dead.

Tony felt weak. He buried his face in his hands and waited outside those doors while Bruce and Lindsey worked feverishly to get Natasha stolen off the brink of her own precipice. After everything they suffered through, would this one day of joy tragically boil down into their mutual death? Countless flashbacks ran through his mind. The death of Clint's first child, his wife, they were fresh, raw wounds that now dragged to the surface.

He wasn't sure how long he sat on that floor wearing the borrowed pair of scrubs, a cloth surgical cap, and two, torn blue booties. Tears poured down his face unashamedly. He'd lost the only thing he wanted. The last piece of Clint was gone. It was like reliving Barton's death all over again.

The doors creaked by his feet as Bruce entered the hall. Tony couldn't see him. He never looked up from where he sobbed into his hands. Bruce dropped down beside him and leaned on Tony's shoulder. Neither of them had the words to speak.

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OMG! What will happen?!

Please review!


	50. Chapter 48

OMG OMG OMG, what will happen? A girl? A GIRL?

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Chapter 48

Somber. That was the only word for it. Tony reclined in Pepper's bed, holding his wife in his arms as she rested against his chest. Little Ben had gone off for the past hour with the nurses. He needed his neonatal screens and with the state of things, they thought the family might find it easier to spend some time alone. Thor hadn't sat since they'd taken Natasha away. He couldn't bring himself too. The stress needed him to pace. Bruce, however, did enough sitting for the both of them.

He still uncovered flecks of blood in odd and unexpected places. Behind his ear and beneath his chin for instance. He'd been elbow-deep in it, right beside Lindsey as the two fought their way through Natasha's bleeding organ. It took a considerable time. Too much time. But eventually they got her under control again. They replaced her entire blood volume and then some. She wasn't under anesthesia long, but for the two doctors it felt like a 48 hours surgery. She woke very rapidly after and not groggy or fighting the way Clint always did. One minute she was dreaming, and the next she wasn't. She had two IV's going to keep her properly hydrated and medicated. Bruce estimated she'd be healed from the ordeal within the week.

Steve joined them after they brought Natasha back. It was the first he could move since the news initially hit of her being in the hospital at all. They saved themselves time and leg work by returning Natasha to the corner of Pepper's room instead of her own. Now that the ordeal was finished on her end, she felt she might rather enjoy being amongst friends.

"A little girl?" Steve said for the twentieth time. It was the only phrase they'd gotten out of him. He sat at Natasha's feet, holding one of her ankles over the cover of her blanket. He wasn't sure why.

"Upside down, refusing to come out, and a girl. We don't need a DNA test. It's Clint's," Pepper said to try and lighten the air.

"We didn't pick out girl names," Bruce said what they all knew.

Tony didn't add what he wanted. That after seeing that small, blue child be whisked away from before his very eyes, that picking out a name by this point was worthless. She was dead. She never cried, never looked at him, or took her first breath. She was dead before Tony could ever love her the way Clint would have wanted. She was dead before he could hold her, spoil her, and give her everything that was once her father's. Today was the day his first son, Benjamin Stark, was born but it was also the day Clint Barton died, again, for everyone.

"Why do they tarry with news?" Thor demanded. "It has been long enough. I will go and search out our fair daughter and bring her—"

The door to the room opened and Nurse Biehl returned with a familiar bundle. Tony's dread pacified slightly seeing that tiny face. They'd placed a cap on the baby's head to lock in the warmth, as he called it. He stood and picked up the baby from Biehl and sat back down beside Pepper.

"Is there any news?" Bruce asked.

"Dr. Castillo is on her way down now. She just wanted me to come ahead of her." Nurse Biehl replied. He smiled at them reassuringly then retreated again. No sooner did he attempt to shut the door, before Castillo herself entered through it. Bruce and Steve both got to their feet. If it was bad news to face, they wanted to be standing.

"She's dead," Tony said before anyone else spoke. His jaw was tight, body threatening to shake apart. Pepper clamped her hand on his arm, but he was too deep in his grief-filled thoughts to think of her.

"There were a few complications," Castillo said in her traditional, non-committal way. "If you let me explain."

"I want her," Natasha said, cutting her off. "I want my baby. Where is she? I want her back." Her eyes welled, Thor moved to her and took her in his arms. She, for the first time, let him.

"We saw the signs of the baby being in distress, and that's when I made the call to send her to the OR. After delivering the baby, we realized that the umbilical cord had become tangled around her neck. Also, the placenta began to detach very rapidly, which caused the hemorrhage. We aren't sure how long the baby was deprived of oxygen. When she was delivered, she was blue, not breathing, and I could not find a heartbeat."

Pepper gasped, holding her child a little tighter. Tony pulled away from her, turned toward the closest wall and pounded the bottom of his fist against in.

Castillo went on. "We intubated, gave oxygen therapy, and began chest compressions to try and restart the heart. We then went to intensive care and implemented drug therapy. We worked on her for two and a half hours. She's now the pinkest baby I have ever seen."

Tony spun around. The entire room seemed to fill with a gust of air. Castillo smiled, exhausted, but equally relieved. She tilted her head a little at the bundle in Pepper's arms.

"I'd like to introduce you to Clint's daughter."

Shocked, Pepper looked down at the baby and pulled up a corner of the tiny cap. Sure enough, the jet black tufts of hair were absent, exchanged for a mop of raggedy blond. Two lapis eyes stared up at her in sheer wonder and amazement. Clint's baby.

"Natasha! Oh Natasha!" Pepper exclaimed, beginning to hand the girl to Tony, but thought better of it in retrospect and handed her to Thor instead. The child nearly disappeared into the Asgardian's arms. For such a tiny thing, she came into the world with a punch of drama.

Natasha's arms extended the instant Thor approached. Bruce and Tony flanked him on either side as Steve moved away. Natasha held the little girl in her arms for the first time. The child, innocent and beautiful, with a face like an angel smiled up at her beneath the red, scrunched face. Ten little fingers all extended and flexed together. Before cruising up for her mother. Natasha caught one of them with a finger, allowing the other to explore the end of her nose. Clint's baby. Her baby. She was a part of this life in her hands now. How could she ever think she might separate from it?

"You just fell right down a rabbit hole. We are all mad here. Full of peculiar people who do extraordinary things and you are one of us," she whispered to the girl.

"Alice in Wonderland." Bruce said smiling. He wanted to cup the tiny face in his hand, but already Tony had taken that roll. He didn't even really understand what he'd said until Natasha looked up, latching onto the word.

"Alice," she repeated. "Clint's grandmother, Kitty. Her middle name was Alice, wasn't it?"

Even if it wasn't Bruce was more than prepared to lie his way right through it. Thor held a thumbs up in complete support. "I think it was."

Natasha looked back into those perfect lapis pools. She had Clint's eyes, his hair, and even a little of her nose and chin. Somehow that didn't bother Natasha as much as she thought it might. "Alice Rellya Barton."

"Rellya. Hawkeye." Thor translated the elven word.

Natasha nodded. "I don't know why I'm crying. Why can't I stop crying?"

Bruce wanted to laugh. He sat in the bed beside her and caressed little Alice's face with his hand. Despite her rough start, and what might prove to be a difficult future, Alice was safe in their arms at long last. He had no idea what the Avengers were going to do with themselves. They'd prepared all this time for a boy. They were convinced, even without photo evidence that Clint had made another man to replace himself. A girl spelled trouble with a capital T. She would have her multitude of uncles so trapped in her fingers, they wouldn't find a way to ever escape. Even worse, they may never even want to.

"Ok, I need a baby. Someone get my baby. Women getting jealous on this side of the room," Pepper announced to everyone's chuckles.

Tony planted a kiss on the side of Alice's cheek and returned to his wife. He nearly climbed into her lap and dragged her against his chest.

"Dr. Banner?" Castillo said.

"Hmm?" Bruce looked up from where the girl had his finger in a death grip. He was as ethereal as the rest of them. At this rate, he might find it difficult to Hulk out any time soon.

"She did have a serious condition. Would you like me to discuss possible complications? Or do you prefer to take over?"

The rush of relief suddenly filtered away. Bruce hadn't exactly forgotten about complications, but Alice looked so healthy now it was easy to overlook their existence. He made a motion telling Castillo to continue herself.

"Oxygen deprivation can sometimes come with no side effects and that is what we always hope for. But there are a few things that we must take into consideration. We will be keeping an eye on some of these as she grows older, but you need to hear about them now. Seizures, behavioral deficits, cerebral palsy, infarcts, heart disease, there is a considerable list. I don't want to scare you, but as of right now we haven't seen any signs of dysfunction. But we will have to continue to monitor her."

Thor crossed his arms. "Whatever the result, she is ours. A daughter of the Nine Realms. We will never abandon our duty by her and pledge this day to use my might in her honor. I rue the day a suitor might attend her hand."

Natasha could only gaze around the room at the overwhelming support. She had no doubt in her mind that Alice was going to be loved for the very rest of her life.

:(:):(:):

Thor stood by the window, bouncing slightly as he rocked from left to right. The city of New York was bursting with life. The sweltering summer had peeled back for a few precious days to give an almost spring like atmosphere. The people were driven from their homes to enjoy it and now clustered along the streets as if the Macy's day parade was scheduled early.

"I believe Happy may find difficulty in reaching us this day," he said over his shoulder.

"Well you aren't flying Alice home. I'll put my foot down to that," Natasha said, slipping the last of her things into her bags. She'd stayed at the hospital longer than she'd liked already. As it wasn't much of an inconvenience, Pepper decided to share the time with her. Being waited on hand and foot, attended to by the likes of Thor, Steve, Tony, and Bruce with a nursing staff more than welcome to take the new babies away and allow their mothers time to sleep was a Godsend no woman would soon relinquish. They had no more excuse to stay. Natasha had healed from her surgery and Pepper planned to be back in Jillian Michael's shape by October, she had done little but rest and eat. It was time to end the fantasies.

"Oh I would not attempt such a feat with a mother like yourself ready to behead me," Thor replied. He turned his back to the window and came bobbing over. The swaddled bundle of Alice seemed perfectly content to continue staring up at his expressive face.

"Darn right." Natasha replied. She zipped her bag closed and left it on the bed. With arms extended, she allowed Thor to pass the child over while he continued to hold Benjamin in the other arm. No one could have anticipated his incredible instinct with the babies. They simply gravitated to him like a massive teddy bear. One swing in his arm was enough to put Benjamin right into a contented baby coma until his stomach eventually sallied him awake again.

Pepper appeared out of the bathroom and shut the door in her wake. "I thought peeing every twelve minutes stopped after the little human came ripping out of me."

Natasha snickered.

Thor attempted to offer Benjamin back, but Pepper declined to take him. "Oh no, he's Uncle Thor's problem. I still haven't put anything in my bags yet. And where's Tony?"

"Someone rang?" Tony announced, opening the hospital room door and striding in beside Steve and Bruce. They had a bag full of breakfast and a couple cartons of coffee. "I thought mommy might be starving." He leaned in and kissed Pepper's cheek.

"I am! And caffeine too!" she exclaimed, grabbing the closest cup and the entire bag. She sat down on the mattress and began to pour out the array of contents. It was Thursday, after all, and that meant bagels in honor of Clint.

"I know you hated giving up the Java," Tony replied, he plucked one of the bagels from the pile and handed it to Natasha who also sat.

"Coffee never tasted so good, ever. That's it. If we do this again, I am keeping coffee."

Tony smiled. He took over baby duty from Thor and stood for a while with his son propped against his chest. The others spread out and began to dig in. "Happy's stuck in traffic. Once he's free we'll meet him downstairs. He's got the car seats installed already. I wish I'd seen how that went."

"Think they're in correctly?" Bruce asked with a smile.

"If we see duct tape, the answer is no." Tony replied.

"I'll be happy to get back home. It's feels like longer than a week. Bruce, you didn't have to come all the way up just for this." Pepper said between chews. It would take time for her to stop eating for two. It had become such a habit.

"I didn't mind. Besides, my lecture series was over and I didn't want to stay and listen to all the students who didn't pass the course."

"How many this time?" Steve asked. He unwrapped Natasha's food and handed her a quarter of it.

"First estimates are showing about a third of them. An improvement from day one."

"Think they got wise to the fact that the way to your brain is through actually using theirs?"

Bruce chuckled. "Oh, that is one big leap for a lot of them to make. No, it's a learning curve for me too. I haven't taught this type of class before so it takes a while to know what works and what doesn't. I think I've got a good niche now."

A faint knock came to the door post and the company turned to see the visitor. They had expected Lindsey, or maybe Castillo. Though they had already taken their leave of the doctors, usually those sorts of processes were more drawn out. Whatever Tony may have planned to say went right through the window when he saw the figure actually in the doorway.

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BAH!

Who's at the door? Who could it possibly be? ANd Can i just say how ADORABLE Thor is with children?

PLEASE REVIEW!


	51. Chapter 49

SURPRISE!

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**I Can Hear the Drums**

Chapter 49

Rinon was dressed simply. Gone were his flowing cloaks, and Elven gold. His crowns, twigs, and Alfheimr armor were put away. He seemed like any elf, despite his long white hair and sharp lavender stare. The Avengers hardly knew what to make of him. At first they were stunned. It was commonly believed that Rinon and his team had never made it off Nova Luna before the moon was shaken apart. Yet here he stood before them. He'd made no effort to contact them, didn't come to see them. He simply went on as if he hadn't existed. Elves were secretive that way, so while the Avengers might have held a momentary animosity over mourning his obvious non death, it quickly fell aside. Steve stood and greeted him first, followed by Bruce, Thor and the others. They'd had no visitors to the hospital since they first checked in, so it was highly irregular to see him there at all.

"We had no notion you had survived. I am delighted to see you have," Thor said.

Rinon inclined his head a little, accepting the complement.

"Has Alfheimr heard about the kids? Is that why you came? We were so careful with the news, but I don't want to seem like it was a big secret or anything," Steve asked.

Rinon shook his head a little from left to right. "No one knows save myself, Fehreh and Reylano."

This seemed odd to them, like everything else about this mysterious visit. If none but three on Alfheimr knew, then how did he? Why had he come, but to see them or bring news from the realms? He was no longer a general. The Alfheimr armada remained at his control, though retired for lack of better word, and far beyond reach with the destruction of the Mars portal. Fehreh had requested their dismantling after Loki's admission of guilt to Barton. Despite his proposed assistance in the end, they fell back into a position of distrust. After the Mars Portal was destroyed, the Alfheimr one soon followed.

"How did you get here?" Tony asked the obvious question.

Rinon's eyes fixed on the swaddled child in Natasha's arms. "It has taken two months, but I have flown. Reylano and Fehreh remain with the ship."

"My friend, you might have asked Asgard. We are on no harsh terms. The Bifrost is always open to you," Thor said, surprised.

Rinon continued to look at the baby. "I had my reasons."

"Do you want to see her?" Natasha asked gently. She aproached, holding little Alice against her chest. She watched the elf's expression, gauging what he might want. He didn't reach out at first. In fact he said and did very little. His hands were clasped behind his back and he seemed like at any moment he may decide to leave, never to be heard from again. However he did stay.

"It's alright," Natasha said quietly. "I know what you can do. If you came here to see . . . if you could even bring yourself to share it, then please." She went a little closer and angled Alice for him to take.

Tony watched as a few tense moments passed before Rinon did accept the little bundle and cradled it against him. Rinon's expression changed. He seemed to go someplace very far away, or deep within himself. For a while he didn't move or attempt to speak. He only looked down into the child's face and said nothing at all.

"Tasha?" Steve braved to ask.

"Rinon can see things. Like the Sarhorns, but not," she explained hurriedly.

"Things? What kind of things?" Bruce approached and considered Rinon's curious expression. He remembered seeing it before. Only a few times, but it was usually in Rinon's quieter moments. He'd simply stand with his hands clapped looking off into nothing as if he were sorting through his thoughts. Bruce never thought of it before. Was it possible all those times Rinon was really looking into something? Seeing something their eyes had been shielded from?

Rinon came back to himself. Without changing his stony faced expression, he handed Alice back. "Thank you."

"Tell me," she replied, holding her child close.

"First, tell us. What is happening?" Tony demanded.

"I . . . Forgive me this must all seem so very strange. I saw . . . That is to say . . ." Rinon started and stopped, trying desperately to formulate some sort of coherent speech in the jumble of his mind and failed. His body shook a little. Fearful he might drop right over, Thor leaned in and grasped him by the elbow. Rinon made no move to pull away. He fell heavily against Thor, and reached his arm around his own waist to hold something.

"My friend?" Thor asked, surprised at Rinon's reaction. Something felt strange between them. Thor looked down and noticed the blood.

"What has happened? Rinon, speak!" Thor exclaimed. He looked at Bruce who came closer at once. Greatly affected now, Rinon's hands quaked. He lost the marks of his cool exterior and soon found trouble in even supporting himself. Steve grabbed a chair and guided it over. He also crossed to the doorway as if to run for more help. Thor moved aside and Bruce kneeled in front of the elf. He pulled Rinon's coat opened and found the long strips of bandages seeped in blood.

Bruce leaned up and took Rinon's face in his hands. "Rinon? Can you hear me? What happened? Were you attacked?"

"It is—old. Forgive me. I need a moment." Rinon just managed to find his voice. Bruce nearly ran for another surgeon himself, but sensing his plan, Rinon prevented him. He forced more strength into his voice and said, "Please, do not fear for me. I have chosen this risk. The door, please."

Unsure, Steve left it open until Rinon faced him. The elven leader nodded, as if to prove he had the strength to do it, and Steve relented. He pulled the door shut.

"Whatever you have to say can wait until you stop bleeding," Tony said. He handed his child to Pepper and kneeled by Bruce to look at the injury. What they could see was extensive. He had to have been attacked. Maybe on the flight to Midgard. Did this mean the Kree were not quite through with their rebellion? Was it Thanos? Dark Elves? He could only wonder.

"I am no more about to lose my life now than I was attempting to make this journey. Please do not concern yourself over this," Rinon said, preventing Bruce from examining him further. "You know the traits of my people. These are old wounds you see."

"How old?" Bruce asked, gently. Rinon was being unseasonably talkative.

"Many months." Rinon whispered. He returned his focus to Natasha's baby, cradled protectively in her arms. He hadn't given her an answer yet as to what exactly he'd seen in her future. Surely that must frighten her.

"Is anyone going to bother explaining what all this is about?" Steve asked again. He looked to Natasha for support, yet her patience wore thin.

"I said already. He sees things. You know how some Elves make the ground move, or they talk trees into forming chairs and things, well he isn't like those kinds of Elves. He sees the future. That's right, isn't it?"

"Yes that is right," Rinon told them.

Tony glanced at little Alice, then back at the Elf. "Her future? Was that what you just looked at? You came here to see that?"

Rinon nodded. He clasped his hands tightly to try and cease their quivering. "Forgive me, I must be frightening you. Do not fear. She will be strong. As beautiful as her mother and full of her father's heart. She will be an easy child. Loving, willing. She will grow to a very fine woman."

Natasha felt her chest tighten as every new fear she ever formed came crashing together like those stone slabs that sealed Clint in forever. Her hands tightened a little on the child in her arms. To hear such words from a man of Rinon's gifts lifted a horrible weight off of her shoulders that she hardly knew existed.

"She's going to grow up?" Natasha whispered. "Our girl."

Tony gazed down into the sleeping face of his son. He debated in himself. Did he want to know? Good news, of course, was always welcome, but what if something horrible happened to his child? Could he live in that same daily fear that Clint tried so hard to escape himself? If his son was diagnosed with cancer in four years, would he want to know and grieve over that now? He'd tried preventing fate once, he felt the result of that still like a dagger in his side every time he looked at Natasha and her fatherless child. Rinon took that option away from him before Tony could ever make the decision to not hear it.

"He will be a fine lad. Strong, brave, and very, very smart. He will rise to you accomplishments and surpass them in his own way. You and your wife will never see the death of your son."

Pepper sobbed into her hand. Thor moved to her and held her shoulders, but she shooed him away. They weren't sad tears she now choked on, they were happy, full of wonder and excitement for the future before them. What mother wanted to outlive her own child? What mother didn't want to hear that her new boy would grow up to be just like his amazing father? She counted her blessings one hundred fold.

Thor said, "You have helped our family in more ways than we can thank you for. How is it you have come to know of the Avengers heirs? Truth it is we had no notion you survived. We have seen nothing of you since that dark time and all of Alfheimr has retreated within its borders to recover, grieve, and celebrate all in one."

"I saw rather suddenly a future I could not explain." Rinon said. "I confess now it makes complete sense to me. At first I doubted it. I had to come here myself to prove its validity. Seeing this all of my doubts have been erased."

"What future?" Bruce asked.

Rinon's shaking return two fold. No amount of tension in his hands or arms proved enough to mask it from them. His eyes fell to his lap and he hunched into a submissive posture. The stately, silent king they knew so well retreated to something they had never seen. His small voice came. "How can you ever forgive me for the secret I have kept?"

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OK, so i know this was a lot to process all in one night, but let us recap a little.

Clint had a daughter. What a shocker! so much for little Henry, look out world, here comes Alice!

Natasha being a mom. We all wanted it to happen, and there it was!

Bruce jumping in to save her. Tony's raw emotion. The horror of losing Clint a second time and then not. So many emotions!

Now this? Rinon not dead, the children born. a hidden secret, what could it all mean? What will happen for our team? STAY TUNED!

-Please remember to review:)


	52. Chapter 50

amy. .9: No promises on adorable little Alice. you know I am a lovely whump writer. And poor Steve just utterly traumatized! You're assumptions will be answered here!

discordchick: hahahaha! I love that line too! I actually never put that together either! So I love that you pointed it out! I do love little Alice. There was an absolute war over what to name her but I'm quite happy with the end result. No love story as yet (yet...right? yet!) as for Clint...

khaitosfren: He's just so adorable! I just love Thor and kids.

JRBarton: :D!

Fury-Natalia: Daw, I couldn't let her just go away and never return. she was too fantastic for that!

Ms. Hawkeye: I'm so glad you love the Avenger babies! As for what Rinon knows... we learn that tonight!

quiet-raindrop: LOL! I hope those are pure thoughts of happiness! As to what's going on? Only the author truly knows. How do I come up with it? Dear Lord, you've got me on that one! I never thought starting out on Lithium Hawkeye a 22 book series (thus far) would spew from it. It has been an incredible ride, and its all for you amazing readers!

5mairer: HAHAHAHAHAHA! I do really love the your reviews:) And what a tall order! A summery for the entire series? good heavens, I think I might take a few chapters for that one.

Guest: awe...you reviewed chapter one which i absolutely love! Yes, unfortunately I've been too busty with vet school for common grammatical rules, though my unpaid editors have been working on it :P Over time I've been working through books one and on to correct those many stragglers. eventually I hope to get them all!

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Chapter 50

"Le'Lareme, esuea mele eh li." _General, they are ending the evacuation_, Linnor announced. He approached the lunar bluff beside Rinon and watched the ships escaping into the atmosphere. "We must go."

"This is the moment. We must find him. Get to him, swiftly, before it is too late!" Rinon turned swiftly, signaling to the hovering ship to drop to the ground for them.

"Moment? Find him?" Linnor asked, catching up to Rinon's heels.

"Do you not see it? Feel it?" Rinon asked. "We must find the archer. This is the moment his fate is decided. I have given my word that we will prevent this happenstance."

"You seek to change it?" Linnor asked, surprised.

"I will do what I can. Whether I succeed or not. I owe his family that."

The rest of his scout team gathered while the evacuation ships joined the others in their escape. He left it to Linnor to catch them up on his plan. He'd kept close to Clint and Natasha both. He'd sworn to the Black Widow, the moment she knew of his gift, that he would try again where in the past he had so often failed. He was going to ride after the two of them and move the very planet itself if it meant tearing Clint out of death's grip.

The last ship swung around toward them and hovered for a moment as it lowered down. Even before it had a chance to drop, Rinon felt the ground shift beneath his feet. A massive quake erupted as the entire slab of stone slid right out from under him. The shouts of the elves at his side echoed in the canyon swiftly rushing up at them as they fell through the open air into the darkness down below. His mind had time to think while the ground rose to meet him. Swift, fleeting memories flew through him like pictures on a movie real.

He hadn't intended to be on Nova Luna at all. Natasha requested he come. In her desperation for one last saving grace to protect the man she loved, she'd approached Rinon in the night and begged that he take a ship himself to Clint's side. If something should happen, if T'Challa abandoned them along with everyone else, she wanted one last chance to get them away. He was meant to fly in on T'Challa's heels, should the worst occur. Having the planet begin to crumble beneath their feet never factored into the plan.

The ship hovered above the surface waiting to take them away. The moment Rinon and his men touched the earth on their climb up to the great peak where Clint made his jump, the ground opened up and swallowed them down. Twelve elves tumbled through the cracks and crevices of the lunar surface. One was trapped almost at once between the shifting of two great plates. Rinon reached out to grab him, attempting to steal his compatriot back, though he knew at once the elf was already dead.

Rinon hit the ground on his side and at once felt his arm shatter. He cried out and tried to turn in the small space, but he was wedged between two massive rocks. Something crashed. A hot breath fell against him from above. Rinon tried to shift his sword free.

"Le'Lareme!" Linnor cried out.

A creature roared in anger and fear. Rinon felt the spray of hot liquid and he knew at once it was blood. One of the lunar creatures had come up from the depths and sought for the safety and easy food of the numerous populous while the cold lunar core superheated.

Hands reached down and carefully lifted him up.

"Le'Lareme, are you all right?" Linnor asked. He resheathed his blade and wiped the blood from his own torn face.

"My arm." Rinon said, gasping. He held it tightly across his chest. There was little space in the wedge of rock they'd dropped into. He glanced around, counting that from the twelve men he started with, only nine survived. Of them all, only Linnor seemed to be in the best shape.

Spying out one of his most loyal friends, Rinon whispered, "Reylano, are you well?"

"Fear not, I live," Reylano replied. He supported his back against one of the massive stone walls and looked over. He stood by the tail of the underground creature. He had not survived the journey downward unscathed. His shoulder held at an odd angle and dripped in fresh blood.

Rinon tried to see up the way they had come but from the angle of their fall he could see nothing of the sky. There was a chance that it had blotted out in the mass of Galactus. Even now the black hole surged forward to consume them all. They were trapped, injured, and alone.

"We must move," Faraday said, pushing his way closer, indicating for the elves ahead of him to move as well. "There are beasts at our back. We cannot stay."

"No, we cannot." Linnor agreed. The way the rocks angled only a single elf could walk at a time. The trail of nine fell into a line and pushed forward. They had no idea what may lay before them, but they hoped perhaps the rocks might open again. The sky might yet return and offer an attempt at escape.

"Keep together." Rinon commanded, urging his fellow men on into the very depths of the heating lunar world.

Ahead of him, a figure stood. At first he wasn't sure he'd seen anyone at all, then like a shadow the person moved. He stopped, the line pausing behind him.

The shadow moved once more. A face appeared beneath its dark cast and the being's eyes fixed for a moment on Rinon. "Follow," he seemed to say without any words at all.

"Le'Lareme?" Reylano asked.

Rinon walked forward, closing in on the peculiar creature. The rocks, however, shifted again. His body lifted as if the entire ground was nothing but the back of a serpent. The company rose against the tombstone walls and fell again end-over-end. Plates of rock moved aside, trapping them even deeper than before.

The elves continued to slide along the angled bedrock covered in powder like sand. Linnor hit the next drop off before the rest. He hardly managed to grab a mound of rock along the smooth floor. He halted his fall, but gazed downward to see what lay beneath him. At once he dragged his legs up to avoid the snapping jaws of another legless creature. Massive fangs slammed together in the dead air beneath the elf. The creature stretched, fanning out a great crest on either side of his face and struck forward like a cobra.

Rinon grabbed the loose shirt on Linnor's back and dragged him, one-handed, to safety. Reylano stood above him with his sword ready and the minute the serpent's head rose over the drop off, Reylano struck him. Lirrie put an arrow to his bow string and shot into the creature's eyes. A scream pierced the air and it fell away again. Linnor scrambled up to safety.

"There are more. Hundreds, thousands, below us. Just beneath our feet," he said to them.

"Night's creatures. They mean to toy with us, not eat us. Heartless beasts," Faraday said.

"Confused. Terrified. Working on an instinct they cannot understand or control," Rinon corrected. Taking the wall in his good hand, he carefully backed up the steep grade toward whatever safety might be had. The others began to follow him.

Again a shadow seemed to cross his path. Rinon fixed his eyes on the creature. A burst of crimson cloak showed beneath the utter black. The face, a ghostly pale, fixed upon his.

"Who are you?" Rinon asked, his voice echoing along the canyon walls. Beside him, Reylano and Lirrie hovered. They followed his line of sight along the rock but saw nothing before them.

"What is it?" Linnor asked.

Rinon broke away from them, ignoring their words to approach the strange visage. The creature, so much like a man, pulled away from him.

"Wait!" Rinon shouted, stumbling forward.

Still, the creature pulled away. He faded into the shadows, around sharp corners, through halls, and open rock. Rinon followed after him. Running as fast as his battered body allowed. The line of elves jockeyed to keep up with him. Few knew him prone to the visions that guided his life, but even they had never seen this dramatic of an action out of their king. Terrified he had gone stark, raving mad, Yiri lunged ahead of the others and meant to finally halt him.

That's when Yiri heard it first. The soft, steady, beep, beep, beep.

Rinon stopped. He glanced down at his coat, slowly reached into his pocket, and removed the tracker Natasha had given to him. It was signaling him.

His eyes rose once more to that shadowy figure he chased. The pale, soft skinned creature fixed his chocolate colored irises on him. Slowly the creature nodded.

"Mal-ahk," Rinon whispered. "Sarhorn."

Suddenly a scream split the air. The elves shifted in their fright. The world descended back to silence once more and the Sarhorn was gone. An explosion and shimmer of light shot across the cavern in front of them.

Blinking at the others to confirm whether they had seen the same as he had, Linnor rushed ahead, taking his steps carefully to follow the peculiar light. He crossed into a slightly larger space. A bright blue square rested in the grey sand around it. He turned in shock.

"Le'Lareme, the tesseract!" Linnor exclaimed.

"A way out straight from the Mal-ahk," Rinon said.

Reylano came up beside him and removed the shroud from his bleeding shoulder and carefully laid it on the ground over the infinity stone. Taking the edges together he gently caught it. Surprisingly, it did not object to being handled.

Linnor looked at his leader. "What could this possibly mean? How did it get here?"

A second scream split the air. Rinon stepped away from them, head erect, ears pricked as he swiveled in either direction as if to lock down the source. At first all he could hear was the barks and roars of those beasts below stealing their way to the dying surface above. He could have sworn, though, that something else existed between those snarling beasts and the steady beep-beep-beep in his pocket. Rinon broke ahead of them. The elf's entire body stiffened.

"Rellya," Rinon whispered in disbelief.

"Wait!" Linnor exclaimed.

The former king ran. He had little time. If he meant to save Barton from his fate, he must do so now. He couldn't explain. He couldn't tarry. The others followed as fast as they could manage but Rinon had always been spry and light of foot. He bounded beyond a massive fallen column and encountered a small triangle of clearing at the base of two tectonic masses. They might have been walls once, sent smashing together under the force of the dying world. He could just fit in the space they afforded. If they didn't happen to shift any more, he might survive to reach the man trapped inside.

"I hear him!" Linnor cried. He skied to his knees beside Faraday and instantly shrugged out of his great coat and armor. They wouldn't allow him to fit through the crevice.

"Is it he?" Rinon questioned, though he had no need for a reply. Something in him told the tale of it. The horrified screams did the rest. Somehow the earth had moved them in a way he would never understand. They covered a league in no time at all, merely by falling, running, and trying to escape with their lives intact. The Sarhorn led them to this place, where just beyond that stone wall the Elves listened to the explosive concussions of Clint Barton's arrows. They heard his shrieks as those beasts he was trying to defend himself against tore him apart.

Faraday and Linnor went through the hole in an instant. Reylano and Yiri followed immediately after with Thell, Lirrie, and the others. Rinon meant to follow next, but his final two men held the leader back. They were not alone on their side of the wall any longer.

Rinon unsheathed his sword and stood with the small opening at his feet. A great boar-like creature, standing as tall as a Frost Giant with tusks dripping in saliva, chomped toward them. Its feline-like legs crouched and circled the three remaining elves. A feral squeal broke through its four-tusked mouth as the beast lurched forward at them.

* * *

AHHHHH! Ok, wait...take a deep breath...review...ok, now move on to the next chapter!


	53. Chapter 51

HERE IT IS.

TAKE A DEEP BREATH.

What happened to Clint in those dark depths alone?

FIND OUT NOW!

* * *

Chapter 51

Clint forced himself to sit up. His quiver had spilled his arrows all over the ground. He fished for them one at a time, pulled them to his string and sent them sailing into the darkness surrounding him. The creatures approached and retreated like packs of coyotes. Explosions from his arrow tip lit the dark if temporarily. The Infinity Gauntlet shattered in comets of light streaking throughout the cavern. The Herald who floated down ahead of him shrieked like a monster. Her back arched, arms extended as that power convoluted, shifted upon itself, and erupted into the sky. The slabs of granite slammed together on her, and the Herald was no more.

The temporary sight of the cavern around him was enough to make him never want to see again.

Clint's body screamed in pain from the shards of femur ramming through his thigh muscles into the open air. No matter what he did, he continued to catch the end of his bow on their razor like points, sending chills of anguish through him. Something came close. It grabbed his boot, dragged him across the floor on his back and deeper into the darkness. Clint shouted at it, grasped blindly around for an arrow shaft and, finding one, sat up to ram the point down through the beast's skull. In the same moment it died, another snuck up on the distracted archer from behind and snatched him across half of his chest. Clint shrieked. The animal shook him in its powerful jaws and clamped down on him like a lion. Barton found his knife and struck out with it.

The animal growled, shaking the sound through Clint's very bones. A taloned foot dug into his shoulder and held his body down. The jaws released only briefly before clamping again through three of his ribs. Braced against his shoulder, the animal yanked itself head away, taking part of Clint's chest with it. Barton gasped. He took whatever arrow he could find and jammed it through the bones of the animal's leg. The world exploded almost at once. He rolled away as the force of the close-up detonation stunned him. His eyes burned, ears rang. He couldn't catch his breath. The good lung struggled to compensate for the injured, torn out one.

He asked himself why he kept fighting. This was how it all would end. He knew that from the moment he was given a new lease on life. He attempted to accept it, tried to live something of a life knowing that this ending always hovered in the distance. But his body, in the end, refused to stop fighting.

A light cut through the darkness very suddenly. He hid his eyes from it, imagining that one of the creatures had triggered a spare flash bomb arrowhead. He could hear nothing but the ringing tinnitus in his ears and the roaring of the subterranean monsters. They pulled away from the light, leaving him panting, bleeding, dying on the jagged bedrock.

"Rellya!" A voice shouted in the hollow darkness. A set of hands fell over his chest and began to drag him.

"Rellya, hold on. We've come. Hold on."

Clint shifted, screaming as his missing side dragged along the ground. The hands held fast to him and shifted his body onto his back. Elven shouts and orders flooded around him like a blanket. He knew the danger their lights had chased away would hide for only moments before bravery, pure mania, drove the creatures back. He wrapped a fist tighter around his bow, found an arrow along the ground and fit it to his bow string. Clint dragged the arrow back and let it fly into the shadows, right down the gullet of a wide-mouthed demon.

One of the elves turned to meet the charging beast. He brought his sword down into the snout of the animal and drove it to the side. A dozen more came behind the first. The elves were over run. Some dragged Clint toward the safety in the crag of rock, but rather than let them, he continued to scrape arrows up from the floor and sent them flying. He recognized Linnor and the fanged creature snapping down at him. Clint let an acid tip drive through one of the animal's eyes, until it passed through the creature's skull completely. From the edge of his vision he saw another bear down on Yiri. Clint destroyed that one as well.

Reylano, despite Clint still attempting to defend them, continued to drag the archer back. He reached the safety of the triangular escape where Lirrie lay along the floor, waiting for them. Reylano struggled to pass the upper half of Clint's body through to the waiting elf, but somehow they managed the feat. At first Lirrie thought he might loop a cord around the archer's chest and drag him to safety that way, but given Barton had so little of that remaining, it was impossible. Instead he settled for the uninjured arm. Lirrie formed a lariat, slipped it over Clint's head, beneath his good arm, and pull the loop taught. With Barton secured, Lirrie scrambled backwards, yanking the cord, and therefore the archer, along the floor until they burst into the safety on Rinon's side of the wall.

"Faraday!" Clint cried. His final three arrows fit against the string all at once. He let them fly, his last act before disappearing into the crack. Faraday dropped to his knees and the three arrows killed the four monsters meaning to tear him apart. Hawkeye was that good.

Linnor stepped into his brother's path and sent him toward the crevice. "Go!" he cried.

A cry split the air. Beside them Yiri was stolen off his feet and thrown into the shadows. His blood splattered the walls as his cries ceased. Faraday crouched into the opening. He held his hand out to his brother and called his name.

A dog-like mutt latched onto Faraday's arm. He couldn't draw his sword in the small space to defend himself. The mutt yanked and chewed, meaning to pull him back into the canyon opening where he might be torn apart. Linnor threw himself at the creature and tore his brother from its grip. Linnor pressed Faraday back into the crag of rock and, inexplicably, threw his sword into the shifting shelf of stone above. The shelf collapsed. Faraday watched his brother, his only kin, be sealed on the other side of the wall forever.

"Come on! Faraday, come!" Lirrie beckoned from the other side. Faraday's crushed heart prevented him from moving. He kicked at the stones with his boots, as if attempting to dislodge them. One of the elves squeezed in at his back and took him by the shoulders. He dragged the unwilling Faraday from the crevice by force.

"No!" the elf cried. "Linnor! Linnor! Let me back! Let me back to get him!"

"Shellu la. Shellu la, Faraday." _He is gone,_ the elf whispered. He kept the kinsman on his back and grabbed the abandoned great coat of Faraday's brother to stem the bleeding from his torn arm.

"Kinme!" Reylano exclaimed.

Of the three elves left behind, only Rinon remained beside the wall. He hardly drew a breath from the gravity of the wounds he'd suffered defending the other side of their escape. Lying beside him was the barely alive Clint Barton. He was unconscious, bleeding, and hardly recognizable from the man he once was. They couldn't stay and wait for those beasts to regroup and come for them. They had to get away.

"Not . . . not your king . . ." Rinon reminded him gently, gauging how much strength he used in speaking.

"Goheno nin, Le'Lareme." _Forgive me, general,_ Reylano said, kneeling between the dying archer and his faltering leader. "We must get away. Staying here means death. Direct me, please."

Rinon looked down at the tesseract wrapped in the elf's coat. Reylano followed his line of sight and grasped the coat tail to bring it closer. He rubbed his face with the back of his arm, trying to clear the blood escaping from his head wound. He unwrapped the blue box.

"What should we do?" he asked.

Rinon attempted to draw his blade but could not from his shattered arm. Reylano reached forward and drew it himself.

"Throw the blade against it. The stone will take us home," Rinon whispered.

"How do you know? What if the power destroys us?" Reylano asked.

Rinon's eyes slid shut. "I know."

* * *

holy crap.

holy CRAP!

So the elves have Clint. Rinon MIGHT have done it. Following the signal Natasha left for them, and the ghostly Sarhorn, the two fronts have been reunited. BUT, with injuries such as those, can Barton even hope to survive? If he did, why didn't Rinon bring him along? OH THE POSSIBILITIES!

Please review:) I told you Part 4 was going to be intense!


	54. Chapter 52

amy. .9: more questions will be answered now!

Ms. Hawkeye:I LOVED your review! It really brightened my day, especially being on call 24 hours for the next 14 days! And, nothing is forbidden in my writing. hahahaha.

discordchick: The Sarhorn will always interfere, but for the right reasons! Poor Linnor. I always had a soft spot for him!

IceDragoness1: EEK! Welcome back! its been SOOOOOO long! daw, I'm so happy you liked it, and are loving the intensity, thank you!

khaitosfren: I always saw Clint as one of those guys who never wanted to be the one people look too, but always ends up getting their attention anyway. LOL

Batghost:YAY!

5mairer: Yes. Yes, i did. But

Fury-Natalia: hahahah! no promises!

The Spoiled Duchess: DAW! Thank you! I'm so glad you liked it!

* * *

Chapter 52

"Reylano, please, contain him, I can do no more of my own strength. Rinon, if you do not lie down you will find yourself dead before the sun sets! Faraday, hold your arm. Lirrie? Lirrie, that leg should not be under you, it should be propped on that pillow I have provided! Heho, assist me here before Rellya loses this arm."

Yeyil was an elder elf and member of those who resided in the Untamed Caves in the base of the Blueskin Mountain range. Those elves seeking refuge, healing, and repair gathered in the endless caverns of the mountain Ollu. Hoping to better understand the healing properties of the caves, Bruce Banner once traveled to Alfheimr to study it during a sabbatical. He found the oxygen levels alone rivaled any hyperbaric chamber. Among that were an unquantifiable amount of other factors he had never even seen before which all created an atmosphere geared toward human and elven regeneration.

Rinon held his shattered arm across his chest. Something bled, though he would not let himself be tended to. His only object of interest was the dying Clint Barton. Rinon had little strength with which to stand. All of him shook in the strange visions, both real and memories that threatened to tear his mind apart. Had he possibly accomplished what he never thought he could? Had Rinon finally prevented a death he had been shown? Simply looked at Clint told him he had not succeeded in the least.

Barton lay in a cot, surrounded by no less than a dozen attendants. The bones of his legs protruded from his skin. Something had torn a hunk of bone, organ, and muscle out of his chest. How he had been able to continue to shoot his bow with the near amputation the talons had done to his arm, Rinon would never know. His blood flowed freely across his bare flesh, dropping to the cot and the floor in a steady stream. He'd lost consciousness. His eyes, burned and scared by the blast of his exploding arrow tips, remained open. The ceiling did not return his empty gaze.

Reylano limped toward Rinon and gently caught his leader around the waist. He didn't wait for Rinon to move away of his own accord, but instead forced him as gently as he could. They left the room behind and found another empty one. Reylano let him slip onto the woven bedspread and painfully kneeled beside him.

"We have done our duty to Rellya. He must now decide whether he might live or not," Reylano said.

"Linnor?"

Reylano's eyes closed at the sound of his fellow elf's name. "Fel'ire ria neu." _He rests eternal._

"I never considered that I had not seen his death. There are so few I do not know of," Rinon said. He felt no fear when he spoke of his gift to the elf. Reylano knew his secret already.

"You had seen Rellya's."

"I had seen what he would do," Rinon corrected, surprising himself. "I had seen a man jump. I saw that man torn apart. I never saw him rescued. I assumed him killed."

"He may yet be," Reylano said it with trepidation.

The door opened at their back as Heho appeared. He had a few attendants with him who meant to treat the two elves' wounds. Barton was being managed, as well as any man in his state could. It was time to focus their attention on others of their own kind. Rinon, Reylano, Faraday, Lirrie, all of the survivors were heroes in elven eyes. Their names, and their kin, would be remembered for all time.

"Le'Lareme, you must let them see to you." Reylano said. He stepped away to let Heho through. The elven healer knelt by the leader's knees and gave him a cursory exam.

"I wish for Rellya to be treated first," Rinon said.

"We have manpower enough to see everyone. Faraday lies with a gash in his arm from some beast who meant to tear him apart. Reylano, if I can yet convince him, must have himself looked over. You, Rinon, are bleeding from something I cannot see unless you allow me," Heho said.

"I will not resist."

Taking the invitation, another attendant came forward and helped slip Rinon out of his great coat and tunic. The more layers they removed, the paler Reylano became. He was endlessly loyal to the elf who had once been king. When at last his wounds were revealed, Reylano forced himself to look away. One of the serpents must have grabbed the former king, or perhaps the talons of another beast. From Rinon's spine, across his side, and to his chest long, deep stripes split his body. The flesh hung apart like a tattered flag. Along with his crushed arm, the wounds were very serious indeed. Rinon was in a terrible way.

"I must go back." Reylano stood and swayed on his unsteady feet. Flashes of King Haladarrel's death played through his mind. He hated the comparison. The thought of singing Rinon to his death was too much for him to bare. The least he could do was find Fehreh. The last he'd seen of her, she'd boarded the _Bethlehem Star_. He might take the tesseract again, use it though he didn't know how, and return to that place for her. By now the Asgardians might have returned to their realm and Heimdall at his lookout. The minute he used the tesseract again, the watcher would know.

"Stop him," Rinon whispered.

One of the aids carefully took the warrior and helped hoist him up. "You are in no condition to leave. What of your own life? You own health? Come lie here and be attended to."

"Fehreh must be found," Reylano attempted to explain.

"In good time. Others may be sent for her. You require rest." The guide did not take Reylano's rebuff easily and his fresh strength won out at last. Exhausted, the warrior fell on the cot in a heap and didn't try to rise again.

"Attend Faraday with care. He has lost Linnor to the beasts in the dark," Rinon said.

Heho became very rigid as the other elves paused. Linnor, the great woman loving, swordsman, hawk rider, and outrider dead at a mere age of five hundred. It was a tragedy. He had ridden at Rinon's side since the elf was made king and remained loyal even after the reign ended. Only Reylano had been with Rinon longer. The two fought in the Frost Giant wars together under the previous queen. When Rinon took the crown, Reylano held only the utmost respect for him. Linnor might have been a carouser and polyamorous lover, but he held an utter devotion to his race. Faraday was younger by only a few years. The loss he must feel was immeasurable.

"We will see he is supported. But, please, rest."

"Do not tell Rellya's friends, his family, of him," Rinon instructed. He felt his consciousness failing him and wondered if at last death had come for him.

"Nai?" _What?_ Heho asked, surprised again.

"His friends. Those who love him. The Avengers themselves grieve already. He cannot survive what has been done. Do not cause them pain again. Let him pass, quietly, at last." With his parting order given, Rinon's eyes fell shut and he slumped forward into Heho's arms. Desperately the elves moved to revive him.

:(:):(:):

Still that red-rimmed absent look scrutinized the ceiling above him. It had been weeks since the elves sacrificed their lives to pull Barton out of his tomb and still he never spoke, never woke, and never moved. He hovered in a plain somewhere between life and death. They imagined that his mind had already gone from him, torn away from the lack of blood. They'd set his bones, for all the good it did him, but they didn't appear to be healing. His shoulder, held together in thread and poultices, never mended. There wasn't enough flesh left on his bones to seal his chest wound. They kept it tightly wrapped in synthetic skin hoping by some miracle he might begin to recover. Yeyil and Heho worked endlessly on him. Medicine that acted as a framework for bone was added to the ends of his shattered ribs. Perhaps they might regrow. The synthetic flesh acted like a barrier, but also a graft for Clint's body to recover itself on. If only he would try.

Skydale and Glencove Elves appeared by the dozens to aid in keeping him breathing, the way Haladarrel himself once had. They commanded the air into the fractured remains of his lungs and let it flow out again. Some attempted to reach into his mind, drag his consciousness forward to focus on his own survival, but it was no use. He remained far beyond them.

Rinon wanted to sit at his side and pull the man from his stupor, but his own survival had yet to be assured. Reylano took a turn for the worse, dropping into a fierce fever within the first few days of their recovery. Rinon was not far behind him. Their wounds bled, seeped, and grew toxic with infection. Sleepless nights were intermingling with agonizing days and foggy visions. Nightmares of that abandoned cave plagued their dreams. Faraday risked losing his arm the way Lirrie's leg had to be removed.

Infection spread rampantly. For a week Reylano and Rinon neither ate nor drank. Faraday showed the smallest improvement, though he was desperate to attend his leader's side and grieve the brother he had so horribly lost.

By their second week, Lirrie was dead. A serious discussion began as to whether Rinon's crushed arm could be salvaged at all. None wished to attempt its amputation given the delirious state he'd fallen into. Perhaps, when he was more stable, they might still. Frantic in their fight to save the fallen heroes of the Galactus War, the Elven nation banded together, attending their men day and night.

* * *

:( Poor elves! Poor Clint! What will happen next!?


	55. Chapter 53

Last chapter of the night!

I'm on-call for emergencies for the next 72 hours. Dear Lord. Wish me luck!

* * *

Chapter 53

Rinon sat at his bedside, then stood and paced, lost his breath, nearly fainted, and then sat again. He felt useless. The war had drawn to an end and Alfheimr filled with the remains of its survivors. They were a private nation again. Their ships were returning to Svartalfheim should they be required again. They remained quiet and closed in the safety of the mountain side, far from Heimdall's prying eyes. The people dispersed back to their homes and tried to pick back up what persisted in their lives. Few knew of Barton's repose in the Untamed Caves. It was not their way to spread the rumor abroad, especially given the reports they returned from the other warrior guilds. Fehreh had been found, though Rinon had yet to see her return to Alfheimr. He felt her absences tremendously. Faraday still mourned his brother, Reylano's wounds had yet to fully close, and Rinon himself was far from his own fully functioning self. To see her ei-koh in such a state would worry her endlessly. He considered it might be for the best she not return to him just yet.

The Avengers hadn't forgotten their great ally, but two months since Clint's death they had begun to move on. Rinon couldn't blame them for it. Unless he was assured that Clint might still survive this death he lingered for, he refused to let his survival of the crevice fall be spread beyond Alfheimr's borders. Reylano, though he'd been shocked at first, understood his trepidation. Before when Barton suffered a stroke, a thousand warriors came to Clint's side in his darkest hour, but those people had already grieved his loss. To enter him now back into their lives was an unfair trick.

Rinon placed his good hand on Clint's arm and concentrated in his mind. He willed the visions to come. Occasionally contact with a person triggered them. The images failed him. No strange future appeared before his eyes, no change in the events he knew, nothing. It was as if Barton didn't even exist. His entire future was empty and distant. He didn't heal, never moved, he wouldn't have even breathed if the Skydale Elves weren't position around him, whispering to the air. The elven leader was disheartened to say the least. He asked himself continually whether he did the right thing losing his team's lives to recover little more than a damaged corpse. He considered finally letting Barton go.

A sick, slow breath disturbed the steady rhythm in the air. Rinon's gaze fell toward the crouched elves ringing around the head of the bed. They seemed just as surprised at the sound as he was. He looked down at the form in the bed and placed a hand along the inside of Clint's left arm, one of the only places his body had available that boasted no wounds.

"Was that him?" Rinon asked.

"I'm not sure," one replied.

Rinon waited to see if Clint may make another sound, but nothing came. The air forced into his lungs, inspired by the elves singing to the archer. After watching him for an untold time, very suddenly Clint blinked. Rinon shot to his feet. He swept a hand to his men, forcing them to stay still. One hand braced on the side of the bed and he came a little closer.

"Stop a moment," Rinon said.

Some paused, others couldn't. They doubted their leader in concern and weakness. If they stopped, Clint would no longer breathe. Rinon pressed them to accept his request. He had to see if he was right, if Clint was at last making some kind of turn for the better. Their hesitation, though, was warranted. Clint's life and death struggle tore at those elves around him. They wanted nothing more in life but to help in any way they could. After some convincing the room at last fell quiet.

Their breaths held in worried anticipation, everyone listened and watched what might happen. Rinon consider touching Clint's face but thought better of it. Still the deep purple bruises and the marks of beast's claws raked their painful lines across him. He wanted Clint to rise, to do something, but he still didn't want to cause him undue pain. When at last it seemed he could wait no more, Rinon nodded to the elves. If Clint didn't breathe soon, what remained alive in him might very well fade away.

But Clint _did_ breathe. A sick, shallow breath dragged through his dry lips. The first act he'd done to show some form of life beyond his stuttering heartbeat.

Reylano appeared in the doorway and seeing the excitement he pushed through the standing Skydale Elves. "Kinme, you should not be up! You must rest or else you will never return home!" He stood at Rinon's side and looked down at the archer with him. Sure enough, Barton breathed again. Reylano grabbed Rinon's arm and staggered in shock.

"He breathes! Kinme, he breathes!" Reylano exclaimed, dropping to his knees.

"Hueli vui." _Healer, quick!_ Rinon instructed, sending some of the Skydale Elves away. He continued to hold Clint's arm with his hands. He wanted, oh how desperately he craved, for some image to come to him. Still, though, his gift hid away. He knew nothing of what may happen in Clint's future. He could only wait.

"He breathes. If he breathes, he must live. There must be no doubt of it, now," Reylano asked more than he stated. His eyes upturned to his leader for confirmation.

Clint's eyes darted once toward the wall away from them. There they fixed for a few moments and slid shut. His body tensed, relaxed, and the spirit seemed to fall right out of him. That tense nothingness they had observed for so long dropped away. He rested, for once in the entire time he'd been with them. Still Clint breathed in short, raspy breaths. He had finally turned a corner.

"I am not sure," Rinon admitted to Reylano's hanging words.

"He is going to improve. I feel that myself," Reylano pressed, ever optimistic.

"Perhaps so, yes."

"What should we do?"

Rinon knew what he meant. If Clint showed some sign of improvement, Rinon intended to take the long journey into Midgard to find his family and friends. He didn't care if every being in the universe tried to come to Alfheimr to see Barton, the world would be open to all of them. To allow such a thing, though, Rinon stipulated that Clint must show improvement. He must live. It would be cruel of him to promise Clint's life again to the worlds who had so long ago mourned him only to have the archer take a turn for the worst.

Rinon meant to express something about taking caution. He wanted more, to be better assured of a survival so many thought impossible. He wanted to say these thoughts aloud but could not. As suddenly as Clint began to breathe on his own, he began to feel again. The archer bucked. Rinon closed in, Reylano got to his feet, and all at once the room exploded in movement and screams. Barton was fighting his way to consciousness, where all the inflictions of his devastating sacrifice came roaring back at him.

The broken legs, their bones reset beneath unhealing skin, but ready nonetheless to bring him strife. The crater in his side still bled into his bandages. Shards of broken ribs erupted from the wrapped flesh. His nearly torn off arm was strapped across his chest to keep it immobile. Scrapes, scratches, dozens more smaller bites all coalesced to the overwhelming agony which Clint roused awake to find. His body screamed.

A fleet of healers displaced the others gathered around. Robes, drapes, bandages and supplies flew out in every direction under their skillful hands. They took up position flanking either side of Clint and Reylano got his leader to stand. Some set to easing Clint's mind into relaxation again, though controlled more than the coma he endured before. Rinon wished that he might wait in the archer's room and return to his side, however at that moment Fehreh appeared.

She assessed the room in an instant. The screaming archer. The frantic bodies. Reylano's arm was in a sling. Rinon's arm too was in a sling. Neither man wore a shirt, and both leaned heavily upon each other in order to remain upright at all. In an instant she could determine one key factor lost in this chaos: a female's care. Her utter concern over Rinon's welfare placed aside temporarily, she addressed the room at large like the queen she had become again. Her hand rose into the air, fingers snapped, and all attention went to her.

"Skydale, I see he breathes, you may be dismissed. We will keep you informed. Faraday is next door, please bring him here. Heho, your talent is to ease pain, see to it at once." She caught the arm of one of the Skydale elves as he moved by her and redirected him to Rinon and Reylano. "Do me a favor and remove those two. Bring them to their room and I will be along. Reu, see that Rellya is rebandaged and properly set. Someone—Fahifine, I elect you—see that he is properly given nutrition. He seems overtly gaunt." Fehreh watched as her orders were carried out. No one questioned her authority any more than they would Rinon himself. When Faraday entered the room again, she indicated the direction Rinon had been taken and they both retreated there.

"He has awoken? Will he live? Is anything known?" Faraday asked the minute the door closed on Clint's quieting screams.

"Nothing is yet certain." Fehreh told him. She moved away from him, her eyes fixed on those of her lover. She could have sworn from the pain in her soul that Rinon had been lost that day so many months ago. Despite knowing of his survival, she could hardly bring herself to believe it. Alone but for their two confidants, she strode forward and took him in her arms. Rinon gasped into her hair, holding her with the one arm he could spare. Reylano stood beside Faraday to give them more room.

"I feared the worst. I _believed_ the worst. I never thought I may see you again, Rinon." She drew back, clasping her hands against the sides of his face. "My Rinon."

"Aruh'yel ven," _My perfect one,_ Rinon whispered to her. "Take care, though, I fear I cannot stand your happiness much more." He meant the injuries. In surprise, she moved back a little. He attempted to remain standing but her embrace had left him breathless. Faraday shot forward to help guide him into his cot again.

"You have been doing too much," Fehreh said, unsurprised. "You will take years to heal at this rate. This is not the old wars, Rinon. Your leadership is necessary. You must be in health. Everyone might have used your intellect in those last days of this war's end, had I only known I might have come sooner."

Rinon caught her hand as she stuffed, tucked, and fluffed him into his bed. Sensing he wanted her attention, she stopped and sank onto the mattress beside him. She drew his hand into her lap and clasped it between hers.

"We were not assured of my recovery," he told her.

Shocked, Fehreh looked at Reylano. He swallowed and nodded slightly as he approached and sank into his familiar chair by Rinon's bedside. Fehreh knew him to be Rinon's greatest ally beside Linnor, his departed soul be blessed, but she thought that same alliance extended to herself. If Rinon had been near death, why hadn't he fetched her sooner?

"The decision was not my own," Reylano explained. Faraday came near also and dropped into a cross-legged position on the floor. "I was not allowed to leave. I had hoped to come to you directly."

"Your injuries?" Fehreh asked.

"Were extensive."

"And no one else bothered to come for me? Is every elf in this cave determined to keep their ei-kohs at an arm's length? And has no one even informed Natasha of her husband's survival?" For that she turned back to Rinon. Reylano would have done the same thing, gauging just what he was allowed to share and what he may wait for Rinon to decide. The king gave a careful nod and allowed Reylano to speak for him.

"That decision was his," Reylano confessed. "Have they not buried him? Mourned him? What you have just seen is the first indication of his recovery since arrival. He did not heal, eat, move, mend, nothing that signified a form of life beyond a breathing corpse. For the first time it has seemed to change."

Fehreh's expression altered from her disappointment to concern. "You have kept him alive all this time without such signs?"

"A decision I struggled with daily," Rinon spoke. His compatriots nodded their assent.

"None of us may leave. Not for some time." Reylano started again. He sat back a little and raised the edge of his bandages to display the deep wounds dragged through his flesh and bone. Fehreh inhaled at the very sight of them. An elf did not heal like a man. They were granted long lives, strength, agility and more but they were fragile in another way. Like marble statues, their bodies might take months to recover from terrible injuries. When Rinon first returned from fighting the Frost Giants, a thousand years ago, he'd been run through with a spear. It took a full year to finally heal, and one hundred years for the scar to disappear. Their lives were spent avoiding conflict and training to prevent their own harm. When he stepped in front of that bladed pike for Odin's own sake, the Asgardian king never forgot the sacrifice.

"Rinon, he may not admit, is worse." Faraday told her. "He took a rake of claws from back to front. Until a few days ago they did not know whether or not he may die. We bribed someone to go for you, but the portal was destroyed."

Fehreh nodded in understanding. She was well aware of that, it had been her order which saw to its demolition.

"You had mourned me, the way she has mourned him. If word reached you, somehow, that I had lived, and you returned to find my body, what pain would that divide in you?" Rinon asked. He lifted their intertwined hands and placed them on the nape of his neck. His eyes closed feeling her skin press against his. He knew the answer without waiting for her reply. They simply needed time and more patience than he could possibly muster on his own.

:(:):(:):

Clint lay on his back with the covers pulled away from his body and folded on the floor. Heho's hands slowly worked over the muscles in his calves, trying to stimulate life against the atrophy. Yeyil was at Barton's waist, tenderly replacing the long strips of synthetic flesh and bone-building poultices. He couldn't breathe very deeply, or stay awake for very long, but being able to do either showed the smallest bit of improvement from where he was only two weeks ago. He groaned as Yeyil removed another necrotic piece of dying skin and set it to the side. The elves tried to make it painless for him, but even they could only do so much. Rinon placed a supportive hand on Barton's good shoulder.

"Rest," he said. He didn't expect an answer. Clint wasn't capable of that just yet. It was impossible to know whether he could even see them given the extent of the damage to his face and eyes. They thought an explosion may have gone off very close to him, most likely from an arrow. "Wake when we are done."

"He fairs slightly better. Not cleared by any means. He is more restored," Yeyil announced. He dipped his hand into the bowl of bandages, removed a thin strip, and critiqued what mending had already occurred along Clint's lung. A hair-thin piece of membrane now separated the chest from the rest of the air around it. Yeyil laid the bandages over the newly growing tissue. They were lucky to have found something that served as a seal for Clint's massive chest wound. Eventually they hoped his diaphragm may again separate his intestines from his lungs and heart, but that was yet a long way off. The peculiar sort of window into his body made it remarkably easy to watch the state of his progress.

"Is his body attempting to live?" Rinon asked.

"Such is impossible to know. I fear this process is taking much too long in him." Yeyil waited to finish his task before he explained the rational. He placed the final drape and moved on to Clint's shoulder. It too smelled of disease despite their best efforts. The talons of a subterranean beast had proved to be infectious for man and elf alike. He removed the bandages and left the wound to soak in the healing air of the Untamed Caves. It might prove helpful in itself beyond the application of poultices.

"He might take as long as he likes. All of our realm would be ash had he not defended us against the destruction of Thanos," Faraday said.

"What do you know of mortal men who visit other realms in our system?" Yeyil asked.

"Most cannot fathom their existence. It is largely forbidden, even by elves," Faraday stated. He stretched his arms above his head, enjoying the motion of his arm released from its sling at last. Rinon felt a pang of jealousy there. He might not escape his own for another few months, if ever.

"That is right," Yeyil said. "The reason why, is rooted in something no one can quite explain. Man forgets. He will forget his home, the men and women he loves, and adapts to the surroundings he finds as if nothing else existed before. This is a trait of the Nine Realms only. He has been with us a very long time. Much longer than ever before."

"Do you fear when he wakes he will not remember his own home?" Faraday asked, concerned. What did they do this for if not to save him for those people who loved him most?

"It is a very likely possibility. We must try and protect him from that. Speak to him daily of what those he loves. That exposure, feeling close to them, will prevent it. Now that he is in a position to hear us, it is critical he not forget. I only hope we are not too late to prevent it."

Rinon squeezed Clint's bicep a little, drawing the archer's gaze to him. "Do you understand this?" he whispered. "You must remember your home and those that you love. You would never wish to lose those memories forever."

For the first time, Clint's mouth moved as if to form words. Excitedly Yeyil leaned over, encouraging him to speak. Then his face paled. Perhaps he misheard? Perhaps Clint was still not in his right mind? He begged for Barton to find the strength in him to repeat himself again and after a moment, Clint went slack. He'd simply spent too much of the little power that he had.

"What did he say?" Faraday and Heho both asked.

"This complicates things," Yeyil said, dropping down into a chair.

"My friend?" Rinon asked more forcefully than the others.

Yeyil folded his hands in his lap and sat very straight. "It seems . . . that is to say, Rellya complains that he cannot hear."

:(:):(:):

Today Rinon's strength fled from him like the mouse might flee a hawk's grasp. He felt the depths of it settling into his healing wounds, slowing his movements. He worried about illness, even in this sterile place. Relapse, the healers feared, might be the death of him yet. He couldn't bring himself beyond the confines of his own bed without assistance, and no one would agree to help him invite his own death merely to be at Barton's side. The archer might be able to read the sign language Rinon had been taught, but he could also read lips. There was no use in risking the king's life.

Reylano improved enough to remove his own arm sling, though the bandages remained in place. Faraday at last was given leave to return to his clan and grieve the death of his brother properly. He was the last of his kin, without an ei-koh of his own and no family within sight. The loss of Linnor bit into him mightily. Faraday gone, Reylano alone remained with Fehreh to watch over Rinon's health. There were hundreds more of the elven race who may wish to stay close, though Rinon thanked and dismissed them all. His struggles he wished not to share.

With Fehreh gone to find him food, and Reylano fallen asleep, Rinon made the decision to stand. A foolish decision he realized afterwards. He'd been confined to his bed for the past five days. He longed to know whether Barton fared better or worse than he, but no one allowed such news to reach him. They feared he might do something rash. Well, they were right. He placed his hand along the wall to guide his movements and entered the adjoining quarters. Clint was lying, unchanged, in his own bed. His eyes were open, studying the trickling water running down one of the cavern walls. Sensing a presence, the lapis shards glanced between his feet to see Rinon. He was conscious at least.

"You were ill," Clint spoke in a hoarse tone. Over time his voice slowly returned to him.

~"I am ill,"~ Rinon signed. Tony Stark had not slackened on his instructions. For the few months they spent together, while Clint combed the universe for Peter Quill, he learned very well. He leaned for a while in the doorway, gauging whether he could reach Clint's side or not without falling over. After a time of rest, he attempted the few steps forward.

"I was worried."

~"You should be. I am."~

The corners of his eyes were still burned and outlined in black gunpowder. As he attempted to smile, the powder wounds creased. He could see, a miracle in itself, though his deafness had yet to improve. "I'm feeling well."

~"Something I am glad to find."~ Rinon sank against the wall, slid down it with his back, and sat on the floor. The chair was just far enough from him to not dare the challenge of reaching it.

"Do you want to talk about them?" Clint asked. He tried to adjust himself on the bed, turning slightly onto his side so he might see Rinon's face though he had no strength at all to do so alone. Their states were remarkably similar.

~"Them who?"~ Rinon asked, playing coy. He tried his very best to remind Clint of the home he had, others too did the same.

"Those people you like. The ones you say I know."

Rinon went taught. ~"That _I say_ you know?"~

"The ones from . . . from Midgard."

It couldn't be. Not after all they had attempted! All they had tried! Clint couldn't be forgetting them now that he was showing signs that he might yet live! Rinon pushed himself to standing. He wanted to call out for help. Perhaps one of the others might be able to talk to Barton, bring the old archer back out of him. The one who woke up with the scream. The one whose dreams were filled in whispers of Natasha's name. The one who first came to consciousness and asked about Tony Stark. Had they really lost him like they feared? Unthinkingly, Rinon leaned forward and pressed his hand against that open place on Clint's bicep. He opened his mouth to summon someone, knowing that Reylano would come running in an instant.

He never had a chance to speak. Very suddenly the entire world fell away. A chill started in his belly and expanded out, leaving dots of goose bumps along his skin. His entire body went slack. He took two long, deep breaths, his body caught up as if in the gust of a great wind carried him, and quickly collapsed.

A glass wall, mirrored on one side and clear on the other led to the halls of the Untamed Caves beyond. Fehreh had been passing back through the antechamber when she saw Rinon drop. She dragged the door open and screamed his name. Clint sifted in his bed, gasping with the tear in his wounds. From the next room Reylano appeared at once. He settled on the floor beside Fehreh who wanted desperately to pull Rinon into her arms. Reylano took her himself, though, and forced her away.

"Nie! Overu'li sull. Wuleni'yie'ki!" _No! He dreams. (We) cannot wake him,_ Reylano warned.

"He is dying!" Fehreh cried. She tried to pull out of the guardian's arms, but he held her tightly despite his wounds.

"Feyh bvel. Bvel." _Wait, Fehreh. Wait._

"He has never done this! I know of him and his ways, this is not right!"

"They have gotten worse. Please, trust me, do not touch him."

"He touched me," Clint said to them. His heart beat faster, he tried to inhale and keep up with it, but the move was useless. He rolled onto his back again and though he fought against unconsciousness, it found him nonetheless. The strain was simply too much for him to resist.

Fehreh and Reylano stayed on the floor, crouched by Rinon's stiff form. His irises disappeared to the top of his sockets. His arm remained outstretched as if he still held Barton. He did not breathe and did not move for a long time. They had seen fall into visions before. They came and left in moments, sometimes, very rarely longer. He experienced them in his dreams and occasionally woke, shaking and terrified from their meanings. This was the first time they had ever seen him so affected. Slowly, as if rising from torpor, he began to come around again. Reylano released Fehreh and together they collapsed around him. Fehreh pulled her husband into her arms and stroked away the strands of long hair tousled over his face.

Reylano considered what he might say. He had never in his past asked Rinon what his visions were. Fehreh may have once, but she, too, had ceased to do so. Before either could decide, Rinon supplied the information himself.

"I must go." He said to them breathlessly. "I must away to Midgard. Something I have never anticipated is occurring. Or has occurred." He tried to stand, but Reylano prevented it.

"What is it, kinme?" he asked.

"A child. Rellya has a child. I'm not sure. I don't quite understand." Rinon was desperate to sit up, so together they helped him. With his healing arm placed over his waist, he tried to better explain himself. "I saw a girl, she was young, in the arms of her mother. I could only see her from behind, until, I reached my hand toward her. It did not feel like a vision. It was peculiar and strange. She turned and looked into my face. It was his ei-koh. She held the girl, I knew it was hers and by the child's eyes I knew it must also be his."

"Was he in the vision?" Fehreh asked. Did this mean Clint must live? That he might return to his home and have this family he always wanted?

"It is not possible," Reylano stopped both of them. "She cannot have children. I know it for certain. It always divided them."

"Someone has touched her in a way to make it possible. I believe I saw a Mal-ahk. Before, guiding me in the caverns. I spoke not of it for the very idea shook me," Rinon spoke very fast in his excitement.

"It may be she was healed," Fehreh supplied.

"Or will be. I do not know. Is this something that has happened? Has he left her with child and she now raises that daughter alone? Or is this something to come? Does this mean he will yet live? If she has had the child, then it is possible I may see some future in her. One that may contain her father."

"You must go to Midgard."

Rinon reached out for Clint's bed and pulled himself to his feet. The others attempted to stop him, but without success. He had a determination in him that was impossible to overcome. Fehreh hadn't seen him with such singular focus since the days before their union.

"I have delayed this long enough. My health is forgotten. I am going to Midgard secretly. For, if I am wrong, I wish for Asgard to remain unaware of his presence here for at least a short time longer."

Reylano protested at once, "Kinme, without the portals and the ships left to Svartalfheim, journeying with what we have to Midgard will be arduous at best. Whatever we might find there can wait until you are—"

Rinon shook his head vehemently. "Every day he is more distanced from the man he was. I cannot risk him losing himself entirely. We leave now."

* * *

WHAT A TWIST!

WAY back in "Vibranium Hawkeye" I first introduced the forgetfulness of the Nine Realms. Tony always hated it, feared that one day Clint might leave and never return, never remember to return. What will happen?! Will Clint come back?Stay tuned!


	56. Chapter 54

amy. .9: I will forever cackle evilly! How very astute of you. he wouldn't be Clint anymore without his memories. In that case, who would he be?

Ms. Hawkeye: I will, and I shall, and there he goes!

discordchick: Poor, Poor Faraday. i do love him so. And this will explain why they have been apart for so long. But what a twist! The forgetfulness!

5mairer: More Postings! YAY! I hope you did eventually finish your essay:) Still holding your breath? yes? good! Here you go, and breathe again!

Fury-Natalia: HAHAHA, yes, that dastardly memory loss!

The Spoiled Duchess: DAW! Thank you! I'm so glad you liked it!

JRBarton: Nope, never gone through enough. I do love to torture him!

Quiet-raindrop: HAHAHAHAHA! I love it. So, Clint was alive and is forgetful, and deaf. Dear Lord, this is bad.

* * *

**Chapter 54**

Silence. It permeated like a living organism, stretching its back and letting tendrils search out to seal the mouths of those in the room. Early on, some sank down into the mattresses to better absorb the weight of what had been laid on them. None had moved since. The tale that Rinon had spun for the Avengers, filled them with a kind of fear, anger too, but mostly confusion.

They had felt Clint's death in their hearts. They experienced that tear, as fragile as paper, and as strong as a steel beam. Clint's influence in their lives, ripped away so suddenly. His strength, lost. His friendship, gone forever. They were beyond hope. How could they hold onto it in the wake of the evidence before them?

Thor himself dropped into those depths to find what might remain of Clint. He saw the walls painted in blood, the cascade of arrows, and torn flesh and bones. He'd been scarred by the experience of that violence. He returned to them, only after destroying that place. He refused to allow any others the same horrible vision that he must forever endure. Asgard buried Clint. Midgard celebrated his life and his sacrifice. He was a hero before, but now he was more than that. Clint Barton was a legend. Someone that the human race might achieve to be. He was a man, and yet not. If Clint Barton, orphan carnival boy, could leave his criminal past behind and become an Avenger, anyone could.

Rinon didn't know what his reveal might do to the team. Tony might wish to kill him while Pepper struck his face. Natasha may never forgive him. Thor would be hurt, perhaps sever their alliance. Bruce might Hulk out and destroy half the city in his rage. Steve – Rinon could go on imagining what they may do to him. He'd run through the scenario often enough.

"You saw him," Natasha whispered. Everyone shook out of their own shocked states when she spoke.

Rinon had grown weaker during his retelling of Barton's grand adventure. He sank against the back of the chair, holding his bleeding side. "Yes," he told her.

"Just now. In the vision of our daughter." At the mention of Alice, Natasha held the child a little closer. Natasha was desperate to know. Rinon came to them hoping that there was no baby. Then there might have been a chance that Clint returned to them and had a family. Coming, finding Alice born already, only meant that Barton was a father, not that he had anything to do with her life afterwards. Would he even live to see that life?

"You know why I have kept him hidden from you," Rinon began with.

Natasha stood again. Everyone seemed to move at once. Bruce had to pace. Tony stood by the window, solid as a statue, but with a quake of emotion rocking through him. Pepper stood beside him and leaned into his back. The tears streaming down her face, touched their baby's blanket. Steve's patience nearly shattered, waiting to hear the verdict, but Thor attempted to support him – or was it himself?

"I understand that," Natasha told him. She came closer, bending down by his knee. Rinon's strength was failing him. He'd been away too long from the Untamed Caves. He had to go back, or risk losing his life. "Please, tell me. I don't blame you, I can't. I might want to, I'm angry, but I could never have been in the position you wanted to hide from me. To know that he's alive, just so I could sit next to him while he forgot? While he died? I wouldn't have survived that. But you did tell us, you came all this way thinking you might have to tell us. Does that mean you saw a future for him? Please, Rinon, I have to know."

The elf reached a hand to her face, and dragged the tear that escaped her eye away. A faint smile upturned his lips. "Alice will know her father."

Natasha gasped. She closed her eyes, pulling her baby closer as if, somehow, the child might understand the future to come. Tony fell forward against the window. He pressed his forehead into the air-conditioned glass as his body fell weak with joy. He couldn't hold himself up. His knees buckled, sank out from under him, and before he knew it, he was braced against the radiator with Pepper clinging to his neck and Benjamin between them.

"I did not know at first. I saw your child, and I thought the worst. Alfheimr had the Tesseract. I could not risk its use. I feared, if Heimdall took us through the Bifrost, he might see why. He might know," Rinon went on to explain, as the team fell into a joyful, shocked, hysteric silence. "I thought I was wrong. I thought I had come all this way for nothing. I saw them together, dancing in the fields of Alfheimr. Her blond hair, bouncing on his shoulder as they walked through their home. I saw him in your arms in the coolness of a night beneath a cascade of stars. He will live, and I will bring you to him. He has been long enough out of the company of . . ." Rinon's voice weakened, grew small, and all at once, his body fell inward. He sank to the side, his head supported by his once-shattered arm.

In the midst of trying to control his emotions, Bruce watched the change. Natasha lifted her head, and grabbed Rinon's knee as if to rouse him, but the elf didn't move. Bruce sailed forward. He placed his hand along the elf's neck to find a pulse. Tony fought through his own introspection to watch. Had Rinon come all this way, only to die?

"No," Thor whispered, settling to his side. He delicately supported Rinon's head in his hands, and looked to Bruce for any signs of hope. At first, Bruce said nothing. His face was dark and grave. He retreated to his bag, found a stethoscope, and inserted the ends into his ears. He ran the bell over the bandages on Rinon's chest.

"Is he...?" Steve dared to ask.

Bruce removed the ear pieces and indicated the bed. "He isn't dead. We need to lay him down. Maybe I can do something for these." He meant the wounds. Facing them, dealing with those mortal injuries, was a much easier acceptance than the emotion that came with the news of Barton's survival. If he wasn't careful, the Hulk might want to celebrate too early, and destroy half the hospital. The big green had the same kinship with Barton, that every other living being they encountered, had. He might hold him in for now, but it wouldn't be for long.

Steve and Thor wordlessly attended the task. The unconscious Rinon was moved to the bed. Steve went for Dr. Castillo, and Bruce used Thor to help him undress the elf's wounds. Tony stayed by the window, still too overcome to imagine moving. Pepper left Benjamin in his arms, and approached the end of the bed with Natasha. When the wraps came off, Pepper wished that she hadn't been so curious. The long stripes of torn flesh remained, despite the layers of muscle attempting to fuse together. A paper-thin layer of something, separated the negative pressure in his chest from the outside world, but still they could see into him like a window. His lung was intact, at least, but two of his ribs were held together by little more that paste and prayer. The edges seeped occasionally in blood and red plasma.

Bruce took a step back. This was what 'healed' looked like? A full six, seven months in the healing air and careful attention of the superior elven race, and this was as far as his healing took him in that time. Castillo appeared, surprised but delighted to be at their service. Seeing an elf, though, brought her pause. Seeing Rinon's injuries, made her gasp.

"Heaven on earth!" she breathed, hovering her hands over him, but afraid to touch. The stripes circled around his back. The white sheets stained with the blood from there. She looked at Steve and Thor. "I want to see behind him. Turn him gently. Doctor, my side?" Bruce rounded the bed to come. They gave a sign to the Avengers, and Rinon was lifted.

"Right to his spine," Bruce remarked. "Alright, place him down. He said his arm was shattered. The right one. Can you feel anything?"

Castillo took Rinon's hand, and expertly ran over every one of his bones, calling out the injuries as she came across them. "Wrist was fractured. Three bones in his hands. Four – no – five fracture lines in his arm. His elbow. Oh God, Bruce, feel this."

Bruce replaced her hands with his own, and gently palpated Rinon's upper arm. He felt at least three distinct shards of bone resting in a swollen, fibrous jumble. He had more experience with elves than Castillo. Over time, those shards would move closer, fuse together, and return to the seamless bone they had once been. "This is years of work. He has a very long recovery still ahead."

Castillo took over again. "This will heal?"

"You'd be surprised the things I've heard. And I've tested the Untamed Caves personally. I don't know exactly what it does, besides act as a massive hyperbaric chamber. Elves heal the fastest when they stay there. Rinon's risked everything by leaving," Bruce told her.

Castillo looked up. "Why did he come?"

Bruce started to say, but stopped. He looked at Steve, wondering if it was safe to tell her. In the end, they did not. Castillo didn't take it as a slight. The Avengers had their secrets, even from her. It was something that reminded her that these individuals were a closed group. They were dynamic in a way that no other superhero team could compare with. They weren't together out of necessity, sick pleasure, or for justice alone. They were a family. They argued, fought, ran away, came back, married, had children. Their core and hearts were forever entwined like an eternal celtic cross. She didn't ask again.

"I'll wrap this, try and keep him stable. If the Untamed Caves are what you say, then he needs to get back there right away."

Thor took over in an instant. He threw his arm to the side, calling Mjolnir, who had no problem at all shattering the hospital window to make him an escape. Castillo opened her mouth to reprimand him, but closed it. It wasn't any use, she realized. "I will inform Heimdall. And I will comb the city for the ship that contains his queen and Reylano. We will make ready at once!"

* * *

I have been on call for seventy two hours. I think I might start licking wall paper.

please review!


	57. Chapter 55

Last chapter of the night!

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**Chapter 55**

There Clint Barton was. A single window separated the team from the member they thought they'd lost so many times now. He sat up in his bed, looking at the pin-point scars on his hands and wondering where they might have come from. The team watched the elves change his bandages, arrange his bed, and shift the world around him.

Pepper had to leave for it, unable to endure the sight of his missing side. No one sat beside him or supported him. He'd been left alone for a while so the Avengers might see exactly the state he had been reduced to. He still couldn't walk, though his legs had finally healed. Much of his muscles threatened to wane away with disuse, despite his attendant's attempts to work life into them. His face was lean and gaunt from illness. He'd suffered a setback while Rinon was gone, and had nearly lost his life to the same fever that took Lirrie's life.

"I will introduce you," Reylano told them. "until Rinon is well again. Please do not overwhelm him, he has been through a great deal. They say he has forgotten much of the life he had known."

"We won't scare him," Natasha agreed, looking around. She booked no room for argument. Tony stayed by the glass, never taking his eyes off his friend.

"I will return in a moment." Reylano opened the door, and let himself into Clint's room. The place was very white, clean, and perfected. There was a long wall beside him, which connected to the canyon itself. Hidden springs dropped water along its surface like the face of a water fall. His linens were clean and pressed, made of the cottontail moss Alfheimr's textiles were famous for. Seeing Reylano enter, Clint stopped his inspection of his hands, and watched the elf. A smile spread over Barton's face that very nearly unmade Natasha. Steve stepped toward her, and took her body in his. She fell into him, allowing his embrace. The blond child was gone, enjoying the attention of her extended elven family. Natasha thought it best not to bring her in just yet.

"Fel leselli," Clint said.

Reylano mirrored the greeting. The Avengers watched as he angled his body away from their view, so Clint might see the mirror. "I have guests for you," he said.

"More singing?" Clint asked, chuckled, and then stopped. A twinge of pain passed over his face, but disappeared instantly. "You're too kind."

"Not this time."

Curious, Clint turned his head to look at the glass. Tony clenched his jaw when Clint's eyes found his. He knew the archer couldn't see him, but was there some way he still knew? He placed his hand on the glass, wanting to simply break through and take his brother back.

"Friends?" Clint asked.

"We have told you of them. They are your friends from Midgard. They have journeyed a long way to see you. They understand you may not remember them, that is all right, for they have experienced it before, so do not allow that to stress you. If you can bare it, I would like to bring one of them in."

"The Avengers? Is that who you mean?" Clint said the word as if it was foreign to him, like a peculiar concept he couldn't grasp. He might as well have said 'trigonometry'.

"Yes."

Clint tried to sit up a little more. Reylano helped him. He patted down the blanket, flattned the mess in his hair, and looked at the floor beside his bed. "Should I stand? I should try and stand, shouldn't I?"

"You don't have to do that, Clint," Bruce whispered to the glass.

"I do not think it is necessary. They have known you well enough to understand," Reylano said.

"I still think I'd rather stand."

Reylano conceded. He pulled the blankets away, arranged them by the foot of the bed, and extended his hands to Barton. Together, he managed to swing Barton's legs to the floor, took Clint under the arms, and lifted.

"Oh my God," Steve cried.

Clint was wearing shorts so the teams could better access the wounds on his legs. Two long incisions were on his thighs, stitched together in black thread. His shirt was off, allowing them to see the second massive wound repairing along his shoulder. Like all the elves, they wondered how Clint could have possibly still fired his arrows while nearly missing one arm. From the bridge of his nose, across his eyes, and into his hairline, a long band of black flecks dusted his face like a mask. The gunpowder in his exploding arrow tip still scarred him. The worst of it, though, still hid beneath his chest wraps. Clint made it to his feet, nearly fell over, and regained his balance. Reylano left him to pick up his shirt, and helped Clint pull it on.

"They tore him apart," Thor muttered, referring to the beasts of Nova Luna. Everything he saw now, confirmed the mental image he received looking into that pit. No one disagreed with him.

Feeling that Clint might be stable enough on his feet, Reylano took a few cautionary steps back. When Clint didn't immediately fall, he thought it may be safe to leave him for the few moments it took to let one of the Avengers in. He returned to the door, pushed it open, and looked at the people waiting inside. At first, they decided Natasha would be the most logical to see Barton first, but the second that door opened, Tony moved.

He didn't bother to glance at the others, and simply walked right inside. He put his hands in his pockets and, like a spy himself, fell into an actor-like role** t**hey could have never expected from the man. Tony was too emotional, too caught up in his brotherhood with Clint, to think rationally. Out of everyone, they decided he should be the last one in that room. No one, though, dared to try and pull him away.

Tony smiled. His shoulders were down and relaxed. He strode in with a suave fluidity that visibly had an effect on Clint. The tension that once entered the archer's body eased away. He worried over meeting men and women from his past. He'd been warned that his head wasn't quite right, that he'd forget things and people. He didn't know what these visitors expected out of him.

"Hi, I'm Tony," Stark said, holding out his left hand. He didn't want Clint to attempt shaking with the right.

For having high expectations, Clint was veritably relieved. He extended his left hand, shook quickly, and returned the hand to the side table beside his bed. The fingers extended to touch the top. Half of his body weight rested on those alone, but he dared not mention that.

"I'm Rellya," Clint told him. He paused, though, closed his eyes and shook his head before reopening them. "Sorry! Clint...Clint Barton. They gave me a nickname."

"You have a lot of those?" Tony asked.

"Increasingly," Clint replied, visibly calming. Maybe this man didn't know him as much as Clint thought. "I think it means Hawkeye."

Tony considered it and nodded. "You know, I think that's right. I can't keep all that straight though. I prefer studying French to Elvish, but that's just me. Pointy-eared people give me flashbacks of an old tv show."

"They've been very kind to me," Clint said, smiling warmly.

"I bet. That bed looks nice. Cotton ear moss?" Tony approached, keeping himself at an angle to Clint, not pressing any boundaries. He touched the fabric and grinned. "Nicest stuff around. I have a bed like this back home. I think I sleep like the dead now. At least, that's what my wife says."

"You're married?" Clint asked, turning slightly to watch him.

"Pepper. She's a great woman. I feel like you might like her. She can't cook, not as bad as my friend Bruce, but close." Tony indicated the bed. "May I?" Clint shrugged one shoulder. It was a habit he'd gotten into before when he suffered a shoulder injury, and it never seemed to leave. Even now without that memory he continued to do it. Tony sat down, patted a space beside him, and took the pressure off of Clint's need to stand. Barton sucked up his energy, and managed to slide down beside him without falling over.

"How did you get here?" Clint asked conversationally.

"Rinon came for us. He knows you mean a lot to this little team of ours, and he wanted a chance for some of us to say hello and to make sure they were treating you good." How Tony managed to keep his calm, would forever remain a mystery to the team. He simply spoke as if he and Clint had either only just met, or had the briefest interactions in their past. Clint, though, responded to that instantly.

"I was supposed to die, I think. Then that didn't happen. I'm not really sure how I ended up here. I have a feeling there was a war. Sometimes I ask Rinon about it, but I can see the sadness it brings him. Do you know?" Clint asked.

Tony sighed. "Well, a little. I don't have a lot of details. No more than the people here do. There was a war. A big one. You were in that, yes." He turned his head away to look at the wall of gently-cascading water. "That's a nice bedroom feature."

"What?"

He turned back to Clint. The archer seemed a little sheepish and peculiar.

"The wall," Tony explained.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I don't know if they told you, I'm reading your lips. I can't exactly hear. There was an explosion, I think," Clint replied.

Tony did know that, but he was happy when Clint felt comfortable enough to point it out. Years ago, when Clint went deaf after a mission, Tony and Bruce designed an auricular devise for his ears. It worked as a high-definition cochlear implant, with a transmitter the size of a tack.

When Clint had been healed by the Sarhorn, way back on M-day, he no longer needed the devices. He elected not to go under the knife to remove the internal portions. The Avenger reached into his pant pocket, and extracted a small silver case. He'd kept hold of the external transmitters, or Clint had, all this time, just in case Barton ever needed them again.

"Try these," Tony said, opening the case.

Clint carefully looked inside. The devices weren't familiar, but he seemed to know what he should do with them. At Tony's direction, he picked them up and, one at a time, inserted them on the outside of his ear canal.

"Rinon had me bring these. I won't bore you with details, but they help you hear. I'm turning them on, so let me know when – "

"Holy crap, I can hear you!" Clint exclaimed with a jump.

Tony smiled. "Is the volume too loud?"

"A little."

Tony adjusted them. "Is that better?"

"Yeah, worlds better. How did you do that? I thought I was never going to hear anything again. I just can't believe this! Are you some kind of tech genius?"

To that, Tony couldn't say. For the first time, he threatened to absolutely crack. He forced himself up, and took a few steps away from Clint to gain his composure before spinning around again. Clint might have noticed the momentary change, but he didn't say so. "Actually, when they tried to define me, genius didn't quite live up to expectations."

"Well, thank you, regardless. I was feeling – "

"Abandoned? Alone?" Tony supplied.

"Lost," Clint said, "without my hearing. I don't understand why though, apparently I know sign language. I assumed I must have been deaf before . . . well, before whatever-it-was happened. Do you know if I was?"

"You were, yes, for a time. Then you got better and stopped using those."

"Rinon and I talk constantly. I think he's told me about you."

"All good things, I hope." Tony fiddled with a few of the files on Barton's desk. Some contained pictures of his recovery. His heart seized in his chest as he looked at them. He might have thought Rinon's wounds bordered the unlivable, Clint's took the cake. Somehow, the archer never ceased to surprise them.

"Are we friends?" Clint asked, point blank.

Tony flipped the pages on the file, coming to one when Clint was first admitted. Blood coated the floor and all the attendants. Rinon was standing to one side, pale as death itself, and supported by Reylano. Faraday offered a silent scream into the air as others attempted to console him. The now dead Lirrie tried to help where he could, despite his nearly amputated leg. Tony swallowed the lump in his throat, and closed the file. Natasha, and definitely the others, should never see it.

"Tony?"

"You tired?" He asked suddenly, feeling the overwhelming risk of shattering under the pressure getting to him.

"No, I'm fine," Clint said.

"Liar," Tony called him out. He returned to the bed, and picked up the silver case. He slid it into his pocket again, grabbed Clint's ankles and helped swing them into bed. "I've got stuff to do besides babysit you all day. Get in, and when you feel better, we'll talk more."

"You aren't leaving?" Clint asked in surprise.

Tony grabbed the comforter, and pulled it up Clint's body before patting it down around him. "Leaving? I just got here."

"I'm not keeping you from something?"

"Nothing else I have, is more important than being here and making sure you get better," Tony said.

Clint didn't want to sleep. He wanted to stay awake a little longer, discover more about this man who knew him more than he let on initially. The more Tony mentioned him taking a nap, the harder it was to resist. He yawned against the pillows. "Will you be here when I wake up?"

"More or less. There are a couple others who want a chance to see you."

"They won't come in all at once?"

"Not unless you want them to. That might be a bit much. If you want me, just ask for me. I'll be here somewhere." Finished tucking the grown man in, Tony stood and took a few strides toward the door. Clint called out to him though, and forced him to stop.

"You didn't answer my question," Clint said.

"Friends?" Stark repeated, extending his hands and letting them fall. "We're as much friends as I am a genius. The word doesn't live up to it. I like to call us brothers, if that's all right."

Clint thought about it. "I think I'd like to have a brother like you."

Indescribable emotion tore at Tony's throat. His voice came out cracked. He could hardly see through the water welling in his eyes. "Go to sleep. We'll be here. We're never leaving."

"Don't make it weird," Clint chuckled, turning over on his good side. Tony wondered to himself whether Clint knew that was what he always said. He opened the door, but didn't go through until he began to hear Clint's steady breathing. The archer was alive, asleep, and Tony wasn't leaving this realm until Clint was able to come with him. Even if that meant he never left at all.

"Tony," Natasha said when he rejoined their group. She left the company of the others to put her arms around his neck. Tony knew how unorthodox it was of her. He knew how much she loved Barton, whether she ever admitted it or not. He held her for a moment before she pulled away. "You handled that so well."

"He's scared," Tony replied, glancing through the two way mirror. If the Avengers were asked to place a bet on what Tony's reaction might have been, everyone of them would have lost.

"We can't push him. If he gets his memory back, fine, but I don't care. It's still him. He loved us all once, we can just start over from scratch."

* * *

O.M.G.

POOR TONY! What will they do now?!


	58. Chapter 56

amy. .9: hahahhaha, yeah, I eventually ate dinner. Some old potato salad and an icecream sandwich. #vetthuglife. I do love Alfheimr so much, but we shall see what will happen!

Ms. Hawkeye: The schnauzberries tastes like schnauzberries! Yes, you win, he is alive and he might even stay that way. Kudos to your free shake!

discordchick: I love Rinon. I just cant help it. How it was supposed to go, is he was intended to die immediately after telling them to go to alfheimr. But I just couldn't kill him (go figure! I'm getting soft!) I did say this book would restart everything. Imagine: young Clint again with a family he can't remember, starting life out . . . what will possibly happen?!

5mairer: LOL! I wish i could post the whole story, in a way, but while it may be finished being written, it is at the final editor now to make sure everything remains true to the storyline. I swear, the lovely icanhearthedrums and JR Barton are my forever inspirations!

Batghost: Thor will never NOT break windows. HAHAHAHA

The Spoiled Duchess: I imagine the tears are a little of both!

S3cr3tAssass1n: Shout out! HI!

* * *

**Chapter 56**

It was hard to remember what Clint was like when he first started at SHIELD, almost thirty Earth years prior. For the sake of his sanity, though, Natasha tried. They'd been strangers at first. Barton was assigned to her case, to take her out, as part of SHIELD's defense program. Natasha had it coming, after all. She wasn't the most stable of people during that time.

When Clint finally did meet her, face to face, it was at the end of her sidearm. She shot him, he stabbed her. Together, they tried a few techniques to ensure the other didn't survive, but miraculously, they did. Clint saw something in her then. Against all orders, he decided not to kill her. The rest was history.

Though these first few days sitting at Clint's bedside was not as difficult as the time before, it brought a wall that Natasha had not formed herself. Clint was distant with her, scared, and in many ways horrified. He didn't know what to think or do, so he often said nothing, and watched her or listened instead. He found her fascinating. She was beautiful, of course, but there existed something else; a connection he couldn't quite understand.

"I always liked Alfheimr. There's something about the simplicity here," Natasha said. She'd found herself talking a lot more lately. He liked the sound of her voice. "I like the edge of danger in Woodrenkell and the Wild South. I've seen so little of the rest of it."

"I haven't seen anything beyond this room," Clint replied. He sat up in the bed, and poked at the little pieces of food he'd been offered. He still hadn't started eating. No one pressured him into it.

"That's not quite right," Natasha corrected. "I think you've been here more times than I have. The first time I came, you brought me. We went flying together. I fell in love with this place. I actually went a little crazy for a while, but you helped me through it. Eventually, I got over it all, but it took some time. Maybe I never gave it up."

Clint wanted to ask why he came with her. He wasn't sure he'd like the answer, so he stayed silent. It worked well for Rinon, after all.

"Tony never protests a reason to visit. This is the first time he brought Pepper. She wants to come by, but she doesn't want to worry you either. Did Tony tell you about Benjamin?"

Clint shook his head.

"I won't bother you with that then."

"I don't mind being bothered," Clint said.

She smiled a little at him. A little glimpse of the old Clint filtered in. Sometimes, she wondered if he would just turn back into himself again, or pretend this was all just a charade. It was a pipe dream, at best. She looked down at the ring on his hand he had somehow held onto. How easy would it have been for him to lose it? Their names were inscribed there, side by side. He might never have thought to look for that.

"Let's talk about arrows," she said to change the subject.

"Gosh, I love arrows."

She laughed, which made him smile. She seemed so sad when she sat with him. Seeing this side of her, was refreshing. He scooted a little closer, as if to prevent anyone overhearing them.

"I've got a secret," he told her.

She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. "What?" she whispered back.

Clint opened his palm and the Asgardian bow appeared in his hand. She feigned the excitement lighting up in her eyes. Obviously, Clint had no idea at all where the bow came from, only that he had it now. She might be fooling herself into thinking he believed her interest, but Clint felt something very different.

Natasha never could hide her feelings from him, whether he remembered her or not. Had he loved her once? Were they two halves of the same coin, as the elves would say? In a lapse of judgment, he reached between them, and brushed the hair out of her face. He let his hand rest there against her face. He wanted to know why this woman looked at him the way Fehreh looked at Rinon.

"What is it?" he asked her. She reached up, and held his skin against hers. A tear threatened to fall from her eye.

"Tasha?" he asked again.

Hearing him say her name that way, was too much. The tear trailed down her face, and she stood from the chair. She could tell him, or try. But that might only frighten him. Waking from such a horrible nightmare, only to find he had a wife and daughter he couldn't remember, was something she refused to burden him with. She held out hope, like the others, that Barton might still find his way to them.

The door opened, and Bruce poked his head in. "Everything all right?" he asked, gently.

"Dr . . ." Clint fished for the name, his intimate moment with his wife gone. "Ban – "

Bruce grinned. "Banner. Call me Bruce. I'll take over, Natasha, if you want. I think someone wants you back."

Natasha sent an invisible_ thank you_ toward the doctor as she made her escape. She didn't know how Tony did it. He switched completely off, as if Clint was just some nobody he visited in a hospital. She used to be able to do the same. Being a mother, somehow, changed that in her. She thought those feelings would leave the minute Alice was born.

Hormones, she'd liked to think, were the root of her perceived love of Barton, and the acute loss she'd felt when he died. She was a Black Widow. A woman like her never learned to care about anyone beyond herself. That was trained into her. Entering that second room though, seeing little Alice in Thor's large arms, shattered all of her preconceived notions.

"Ah! She comes. I have told you so, and yet you decide to complain regardless," Thor told the child, who watched his lips move in wonder. He dipped the baby down into Natasha's arms again, and stood twiddling his finger in the child's face.

"Anyone ever tell you that you have a talent with kids?" Natasha asked.

"I would be a terrible hand at my own. They would be more spoiled and rotten than I was, which says a great deal of my character, and they would have every trick of Loki in them. I think, for the good of all our sanity, I should resist fatherhood, despite Jane's pleas against the notion," Thor replied, continuing to allow little Alice to grab at his fingers. "How fares our friend?"

"Confused, still. Do you think he'll ever come back? The real him?"

Thor nearly laughed. He removed his fingers from Alice's iron grip, and headed down the corridor to see Clint himself. "Our friend has survived his own demise," Thor said as he went. "If he believes he is the Enchantress herself come to enslave us all, I would be just as satisfied as I am now."

_Endlessly optimistic,_ Natasha thought. Maybe she was wrong to think so much of Barton. She didn't mean to pressure him, but it was completely possible she did. It wasn't so wrong to want him back. Rinon had seen them together in a future where Clint raised their daughter. If she never got him back, the real him, there was that last promise to hold onto. She tried to see some sign of Rinon in the crowd gathered around his bed. He hadn't woken since losing consciousness on Midgard. The strange fragility of the elves, surprised her. She'd seen it first hand on the hospital ships. Many lost their lives. Now that the Avengers had arrived to see after their own, Fehreh hoped Rinon might allow himself the time he needed to recover.

**:(:):(:):**

"I should say I'm not surprised. I think Clint and you have more in common than any of us know," Bruce said, stepping into the room. He'd caught Rinon in the process of redressing. He had just managed to get one sleeve of his overcoat pulled on, and now attempted the other. Rinon stopped halfway.

"Friend doctor," he said.

Bruce motioned to the clothes. "Planning on making your escape?"

"I may, indeed."

Bruce took up a chair, reached over, and pulled Rinon's arm out of his coat. He shook out the fabric, and folded it over his leg. It was intricate black on the bottom, and rising in hair-thin silver to the sleeves made in white.

"Beautiful," Bruce remarked.

"My wife's hand. She would accept your compliment."

"Fehreh made this?" Bruce looked at it with an extra appreciation.

"She has a talent for it. Now, might I please have my clothes returned?" Rinon held out his hand.

Instead, Bruce stood and moved the coat across the room and far out of his reach. "You may forget that I've been Clint's doctor for longer than I've been a licensed medical professional. He was running out on his care like it was his job. If you don't lie in that bed, get better, and stop all this nonsense, I will treat you exactly the way I treat him." He folded his arms. "I'll sedate you."

Rinon wasn't sure what to think. "Rellya, does he fare well under such methods?"

"He has about as much of an option as you do."

"Have you seen him?"

Bruce sat again. He took Rinon's arm, and slowly worked over its healing bones.

"I have."

Rinon tensed at a particular spot.

Bruce paused there to ease the spasm in him. Bruce liked the mindlessness he could revert to when working with a patient. His hands knew so much routine on their own. Often, he could simply let them go, deftly, and allow his mind to dwell on other things. It wasn't the ideal situation for a doctor, but more of a trap he could never fully escape from. This time, it wasn't future tasks, worries, endeavors, classes, speeches, or operations to come that filled him. It was the small, few minutes-long conversation he'd had over a day ago.

Clint slept forever. Whenever he woke, they could see the smallest improvement to the breaks in his body. Ribs reforming, where there was once a gaping hole. Lungs expanding to their normal volume. His intestines, liver, and stomach, migrating back to their own cavity in his body. Miracles, each of them.

Someone was always beside him his blue eyes focused on the living world. When it was Bruce's turn to see him, he found that terrible uncertainty which plagued Clint's thoughts. Banner saw that first hand once, years ago on Asgard. He'd forgotten the full depth of it, until that moment when Clint looked up at him, and had no idea who Banner was.

_Bruce sat in the center of the ice, wondering what in the world happened to him. He was shirtless, shoeless, hugging his arms against his chest as he tried to take in what was happening to him. Tony's first attempt at a portal which could take them to Asgard, worked. However, Bruce had stepped right into it. The Hulk's mass exploded, shattering the dimensions and collapsing the wormhole. Bruce awoke, terrified, cold, and veritably naked on the frozen Asgardian sea behind Frost Giant lines._

_Clint stalked forward. With one foot at a time, he tested his footing on the ice to be sure it wouldn't give way. Slowly, he peeked out from behind the last line of ice waves before the area became flattened by the crater. Clint appeared from behind his hiding place just as Odin's wolves rushed from their own. Surrounded on three sides, Bruce could only leap to his feet and shout._

_"Whoa! Whoa! Don't eat me! Cl—Clint? OH MY GOD, Clint!" Bruce held himself, shaking, with his half-frozen feet lifting to rub warmth into each other._

_Clint pulled back his arrow, leveling for a killing blow. "Who are you?" he demanded. The wolves with him snarled._

_Bruce darted forward. "Clint? What do you mean? It's Bruce! Bruce Banner, what are you – Clint it's me!"_

_The string of Sleiphner's Bow was bright with energy waiting to escape, wanting release. Power surged through Clint's arms and back as he held the arrow. That look in his eyes assessed whether Bruce was a target, just like any other enemy in his life. He had no recognition. No indication of knowing who Bruce actually was. Nothing existed there, but the man Asgard's war was turning him into. He'd been away from home too long. Like a shot, Clint's mind snapped back to itself. It was almost painful to be faced with this shock from his past appearing out of the blue, and quite literally dropping from the sky. He closed his arms together, removing the arrow from the string as he moved toward Bruce._

_"Bruce, I – I don't know what came over me. I don't know what I was thinking." He was afraid, embarrassed. The one thing he'd tried so hard to prevent, happened despite himself. With nothing of home to hold onto, Clint threw himself into his work. The Avengers, and his loved ones, were simply let go._

Bruce shook himself from the depths of those memories, and moved on with his inspection of Rinon's other injury. "You were right. He doesn't know us," Bruce admitted.

The elf's face fell. "None of you?"

"None of us. We've been through it before. It's not your fault, we know it happens. We've tried to stop it in the past. Sometimes it works, other times it doesn't."

Bruce's assurance had little effect on the depths of Rinon's unhappiness. "I spoke to him every day, or each they allowed me. If not I, then one of the elves. We had no notion he could not hear us. If he had only heard us – "

Bruce stopped fussing with the bandages, they were only a distraction. "It's not your fault," he said. "And you need to look after yourself. We're here now, we have him back, that's what matters. But you need to stop. Alfheimr needs a leader like yourself. If you don't give yourself a chance, then the likelihood of you heading anything beyond this cave, is nil."

"I will be well, I have no doubt," Rinon said, off-handedly. Bruce wanted to stop him, to ask how Rinon knew that for certain, but the elf continued on thoughtlessly. He spoke his concerns aloud, despite the present company. A trait he had once completely rid himself of. "But his mind. . . I thought, somehow, if he were set to right he may yet return home. He would not be trapped in this place, despite his affinity for it. We welcome him, he will be happy, but is such a thing what he would truly desire if he had all the facts?"

"What are you talking about?" Bruce asked, elevating his tone to gain Rinon's attention.

The leader tensed, his chin raised, back straightened. He's said too much.

"You had another vision," Bruce accused. "One about Clint's future, not just his daughter."

Rinon's jaw clamped shut. Bruce could hear the snap from his upper and lower teeth contacting each other.

"Are you saying he never leaves Alfheimr? He doesn't go back home? To Midgard? That never happens?"

Rinon became a perfect statue. He might have been made of marble, carved and planted in the flesh-and-bone creature's place. He was so guarded in his adult life over the things that left his tongue. He berated himself for the temporary weakness. This was not a fair burden to place on the doctor, and he knew it the moment he said it. Apologizing, meant a confirmation. The elf said absolutely nothing.

Bruce's patience wore thin. He wasn't as talented at interrogations as Natasha or Clint were. His mind went back again, watching from behind that glass while the others visited Barton for the first time.

_Steve pressing his forehead against the glass as Natasha strode inside. Knowing his chance with her was lost forever long ago and replaced by a new, attainable love he could have never imagined. He'd played this game too long. She'd never been his, not really. Clint had it right their entire lives; Natasha was never a woman to be owned, domesticated. She was an untamed wildfire. A lightning storm._

_Clint was the only one she'd ever permit to see into her soul. He stepped right up to that precipice, and gave himself to her. It would never be any other way. Bruce watched those emotions run through their captain. There was nothing he could say that Steve didn't already come to grips with the minute the captain allowed himself to love another woman._

_Natasha holding Clint's hand as he slept, turning the ring over in her fingers. Clint woke at that touch. Those confused eyes searched her face for any signs of recognition, and finding none. Bruce found her alone in the corridors, holding their child, and sobbing her mixture of happiness and horror. She had Barton again, but at what cost?_

_Tony worked like a therapist in Clint's company, and raised hell out of it. No one saw any emotion except gratitude and joy. No one heard a single word of disdain. Tony kept all that in. Bruce saw it, though; that flicker of obsidian marring the purity in Tony's heart. It drove in like a wedge, digging deeper and deeper the longer he spent with the archer who had forgotten everything. Soon, that emotion was going to come out._

_Pepper tried her best. She wanted to be in there, wanted to be supportive and have that strength the others mustered up, but she was not them. She felt that loss they suppressed. Clint had been hers once. Taken under her wing like a mother might a son, or an older sister might a young, troubled brother. For him to lose that bond they'd worked so hard, over so long a time, to develop, felt like a stab in her chest. Did she really mean so little to him? Where was that movie-moment where their affinity broke the bounds of cosmic power, and dragged Barton, the real Clint Barton, back to them again?_

_Thor merely did as he always did. He was a bedrock, his strength attempting to support everyone around him, as if the Asgardian power might somehow help the emotional turmoil like it could solve a physical one. He'd been the only one to break the boundary of sitting by Natasha in her weakest moment. He needed nothing of Clint. All he wanted was to be by the man he thought he had so wronged in life. Thor never forgave himself for inviting Clint to Asgard those years before. The first time Clint really carved a name in the stars, was all by the Asgardian's influence. He would forever hold that hurt in, despite Clint's long-standing forgiveness._

All these memories filtered around the doctor's mind as his gaze never removed from the statue across from him. Rinon was going to be honest with him, even if Bruce had to wait until doomsday to hear it. Fortunately, it did not come to that.

"I have said too much," Rinon whispered.

"You said he might never return home. What does that mean?" Bruce demanded.

Rinon swallowed. "I never meant to say it."

"But you did, so tell me. What did you see that makes you think that? You were wrong, once, maybe this is wrong too."

Rinon shook his head very little. "I was not wrong. Not before. I merely didn't know the full picture. I saw Rellya jump, I heard his scream, saw his burial. I assumed."

Now they were getting somewhere. Bruce had no idea that Rinon knew the same things the Sarhorn predicted. "So the Sarhorn was wrong?"

"He said it may be changed," Rinon corrected.

"And we changed it. This is us changing it?" Bruce went on. His heart beat a little faster in his chest. He felt like someone else should be here, listening to this, but he couldn't think of anyone that might not lose their head.

"I believe so, yes."

"But that's not it. You saw more than that when you touched Alice. Clint raises his daughter."

"I saw them happy together, yes. I do not know whether he ever understands her, or her mother, the way he used to."

"And in that vision, they weren't on Midgard at all," Bruce devised. He felt a little weak at the realization.

Rinon confirmed it.

Unable to take the news sitting down, Bruce got up again. He felt like he needed to get outside, breathe some fresh air or something. Even opening a window might stifle this feeling of claustrophobia. But they were in a cave beneath the peaks of the Blue Skin mountains. Such an idea was impossible to accomplish. After this talk ended, he decided a trip up one of the ridges to take a bath in a snow drift, might be recommended.

"Why wouldn't he leave?" Bruce asked at last. "Give me a reason. If he was healed, why might he never be able to leave this place? Is it just choice? We know he loves it here, that was before this all happened, is that why he stays?"

"You are a man of medicine. Our worlds are very different. It is possible he cannot leave, though he might choose it."

"The air is different here," Bruce whispered to himself, considering his past studies on the world. Clint was surviving, healing, from something no human had the right to walk away from. Elves had died from infection and venom. In the past, when he was nearly murdered by a venomous arrow, he somehow managed to survive it when, by all rights and reason, he should not have.

"Is this place keeping him alive?" Bruce asked, hardly believing his own ideas.

"Elves speak to this realm. You know that well. We direct its movement, request its air, lift its rocks, and shape its land merely by asking. We sing to it with our souls because it is what the world asks of us," Rinon attempted to explain.

Bruce felt as if his eyes had opened for the very first time. He looked at the room around him, and the work within it. The spun fabrics of the chairs and the tables, the bed and the grass floor. The very air seemed to move before his eyes, and he saw it move like a cascade of water from a mountain. It dawned on him at last, the code he couldn't crack. The reason why Alfheimr called to so many travelers, and welcomed all life with arms wide open. Why the planet seemed to invite and yet repel. Its closed borders acting like an exosphere, protecting the souls within.

"It's alive," Bruce said. "This world is alive. All of it. Everything in it."

As if to prove his point, Rinon extended his hand, thought for only a moment, and one of his swords appeared in his hands the way Clint's bow might. He extended the blade in Bruce's direction, inviting him to inspect its authenticity.

"You have a connection with this place," Rinon told him as Bruce's hands tested the blade. "One that allows you to understand it the way an elf might. Our realm lives the way we live. It is an ancient life. We ask it, and it arrives."

As it wasn't infused in Asgardian weaponry, Bruce was able to lift the blade. He stood, holding it. Rinon made a slight motion with his hand, and the blade disappeared. Bruce still felt its weight, though. As if the weapon had merely become invisible. Then, little by little, the hidden weapon disintegrated like grains of sand.

"Clint's bow never leaves him. I had it all wrong. It's this place. Elven metal. It disintegrates and reforms. Follows him wherever he goes." Bruce could hardly believe it.

"You are very bright," Rinon said.

"Is that why he's drawn to this place? Because it's always been drawn to him?" Bruce asked.

Rinon nodded. "I do not know what exactly he sees. I imagine it may be this."

"Did Odin have any idea of this? Of any of it?"

Rinon smiled. "Dr. Banner, I believe you are the only one to ever fully understand the depth of what my realm is. The first I ever learned it from, was my tutor as a child. He understood such things. If you look, hard enough, you might even see it the way I can."

Unsure of himself and the scientific part of his mind making leaps and bounds, Bruce stepped back, and looked around at the room. He saw only a glimmer at first, like a crystal catching the artificial light. He approached the peculiar thing, but the minute he moved, the entire room shifted. His eyes blinked, head rotating to take in the new, strange things around him. Bruce could literally _see_ the air. Like waves of sparkling rainbow light, the air currents flowed around him. He felt as if he'd stepped into Van Gogh's starry night. He lifted his hands, scattering the colors which dispersed in cascades. He panicked when he inhaled, and the colors rushed into him.

"Do not fear," Rinon said. He sat back in amusement and watched the doctor come awake to the natural things at his fingertips.

Bruce walked through the living air, the colors flowing around him like water in a stream. He looked around at the highlights of light in the room's objects, and even Rinon, who seemed to exist in a whitish, starry hue.

"What am I seeing?" Bruce asked. He picked up a cup, filled with dark colors. He upended it. Nothing fell out.

"You are seeing as we do. This is normal for an elf devoted to its study. A second sight, a connection."

Bruce approached the vine-made chair, and ran his hands over the bright green that emitted from it. When he looked around, he found that same green particle floating in the cascades of others. He had a theory. "Earthenden elves can connect to the plants, build things. Is that because they control this green light I see?"

"Very astute," Rinon praised.

The walls were lined in a faint pastel. "And the others can see this." Bruce touched the wall, scattering the color.

"Yes."

Bruce looked at Rinon again. He could see the elf's sword in a clump of unused white particles floating by his hand. Noticing his curiosity, Rinon materialized them into a solid form again. Still, that faint white outlined it. Then he saw the red. It was a striking, deep, ruby-like color that coursed along his chest in horizontal lines, following the wounds attempting to heal. Bruce strode closer, fixing his glasses over his nose to inspect the peculiar particles.

"An Alfheimr healer can inspire their action. Coax them along."

"This planet is repairing you?" Bruce asked, glancing up to see Rinon's expression.

"Yes."

"And when you left to come find us, to tell us about Clint being alive, you were away from Alfheimr and nearly died."

"The work laid down came apart, yes. We might attempt to replicate this place in the confines of our ships, but the Untamed Caves, as you know, do not work under our own understanding. These colors may exist outside of the caves, though not nearly to the degree we have here. Without them, we do not heal. Had I stayed away much longer, I would have lost my life."

"That's the missing element. The thing I couldn't find about this place. You live every day like this? You see everything? The air, the plants, the rocks . . . all of it is like a living hologram. A program that you can tap into and rewrite the code for." Bruce sank back down. He wanted to analyze all of it.

Rinon said, "Having to separate from this place is incredibly difficult for my people. Imagine having this depth of a connection to the natural world, the ability to reach out and communicate with the very life around us, and having that connection severed."

All at once, the second sight vanished. Bruce blinked rapidly as if to bring it back, but the world as he knew it, returned, and banished away the beauty he had once seen. He looked at Rinon for explanation.

"Losing that connection, means losing one's self. I have leant to you the sight of Alfheimr's king. Had you been born a Skydale, you might only see the air. Or a mason might only see the rock."

"You see everything, though."

Rinon inclined his head.

"You think Clint does too."

"As I said, I am not sure. I do suspect that he may. This worlds lives, the way a man might, or an elf, or one of Asgard. It is an ancient being. We live in harmony with it. Alfheimr knows, very well, the sacrifice Rellya has made. I believe this place supports him."

"I could see why he might never leave," Bruce admitted. He sat back, willing the world of colors to return again.

* * *

sorry only one chapter tonight, but at least it was a long one!

What's gonna happen?! Will Clint ever Leave? Will He ever get his memories back? Will my Soap Opera ever end?

please review!


	59. Chapter 57

_So, final edits are still in progress, but i just couldn't wait to post this (since I managed to get an afternoon off!)_

CourtneyAdorkable: Holy cow, what a ride you are in for! I hope you enjoy every story as you go along:) And here is a new chapter for you!

Guest: I agree, it's hard to be Clint without memories. It's who he is. As for being trapped in Alfheimr...we shall see!

quiet-raindrop: Tony is the BEST. I just can't even handle how awesome he and Clint are.

5mairer: Nope, this story will go on forever. :) Actually, there are 59 chapters and an epilogue, so not much time left!

shila1378: HI shila! Unfortunately the only part of your review I got was: "it's very seldom i post any reviews, but few that i did wabecause if the" and that's all :( I hope you have enjoyed it though!

Batghost: Love shall conquer all!

amy. .9: True, Asgardian healing may help, as we've seen in the past with the Flaming Falls, however, we have also seen those waters not work. They neither cured Clint's cancer, or his brain tumor, and did nothing for his eyes. So we know the healing can occasionally be selective. Will they try it anyway? Who is to know!

khaitosfren: my head likes to do it's own insane thing and sometimes I feel like I'm only along for the ride. How it's created all these connections and kept them all straight, I cannot say!

discordchick: "Tasha" gosh that just gets me every time. Like he remembers, but he can't. It just kills me!

* * *

Chapter 57

"I can get up. Give me a chance."

"Fine. You fall over, then I'm just going to sit here and laugh at you."

"Some friend you are."

"I'm not your friend."

Clint scooted to the edge of his bed and set his feet on the floor. He sent a dark glare toward Tony who leaned with his arms crossed on the wall. "Oh yeah, _brother_. I forgot that."

"Now you're getting it." Tony swept a hand around them. "Are you going to get up already or am I going to kick you out of bed?"

"Hey, wounded guy here. I'm the one who got my arm ripped off." Clint replied. He grabbed the table with is good arm, braced on the bed with his bad one and with a little heave-ho he was on his feet. Tony's hands came apart and he reached forward when Clint seemed like he might fall. Clint kept standing without Tony's help.

"Nice. Now we get to work on walking," Tony said.

"One thing at a time!" Clint complained, considering taking a step forward.

"It's not that hard. One foot in front of the other."

"Don't pressure me! Isn't that what everyone keeps saying?"

"Oh, stop being a baby." Tony walked over and pulled Clint's arm over his shoulder. He did his best not to touch the man's waist, where the hole remained open. "One foot. Pick one."

Clint picked the right one. He wobbled, Tony supported him, and they accomplished their first step together. "Am I allowed to pick the right one again?" Clint asked.

Tony snickered. "Sure. Why, does that one feel better?"

"The left one hurts," Clint admitted. He took another step forward, leaned on Tony, and brought his left up to his right. When his feet came together, he pushed the right forward again and repeated the process. They made a full circle around the room and Clint reached the bed again. He untangled himself from Tony and sank down in the comforter. "That wasn't half bad!" Clint exclaimed.

"You would win a race with Ben." Tony agreed.

"Who's Ben?" Clint asked.

"A baby."

"You're so mean to me."

"You've given me a lot of grief, Clint, you sort of deserve it," Tony replied with a smile. "I'm hungry. You need something?"

Clint settled back into the pillows and tried to think. The small walk took everything out of him. He was hungry. "Yeah, something. Whatever you find."

"One fish liver stew with side of bat guano coming up." Tony replied. He leveled a finger in Thor's direction who sat by the rock wall reading. "Keep an eye on this guy. I think he's becoming a flight risk."

"Oh, get out!" Clint laughed, threatening to throw a spoon at him. Tony scampered off and shut the door. The archer looked over at Thor. "Are you always this quiet?"

The Asgardian shrugged. "Usually I find the opposite to be truth. However, I have a talent with a friend's heir which has left me for once in a state of my own exhaustion. I think he waits until all have slept to decide to fuss on principle."

"Maybe he's afraid of the dark," Clint suggested.

"Who is to know?" Thor replied.

Clint glanced at the table by the Asgardian's hand. A clear pitcher of glass sat on it beside a tall, slender cup. He reached for it and without bothering to raise his eyes from his book, Thor met him half way. Clint considered the contents.

"Magic water?"

"Something similar, yes."

"Trying to make me big and strong?"

"My attempt is to make you well in the best way I believe I can." He turned to the next page in his book. It was mostly a distraction. He liked having a chance to be near Barton without the archer feeling the need to fill their time with small talk. It was simply a mark of his discomfort with the Avengers and he didn't necessarily hold it against Clint.

There was a crash in the room beside them. Thor sat up with a start and Clint followed suit, his glass smashing along the floor. He meant to pull himself up again, but Thor stood instead and extended a hand to him.

"Has something happened?" Clint asked, his voice worried. Without thinking, his Asgardian bow appeared in his hand. Thor watched Clint's fingers tighten along its able bodied frame. Thor would never admit how much it hurt him to see the gift of his father go completely unrecognized for the prize it was. What had once been Clint's calling card across the realms, now Barton himself held no recollection of.

Thor smiled, trying to place him at ease. "I am sure it is of no concern. I will look into it." He disappeared into the next room. What he found was no cause for surprise. Tony had simply burst into a random food fight with Pepper and what might once have been their lunch had dwindled instead into ammunition. Thor couldn't completely avoid the fruit that went sailing toward his skull as he hid back toward Clint's room.

He opened the door a little wider and was swept aside instantly by the thundering paws of a massive canine. Laice, Rinon's dire wolf, had apparently arrived from Lakeheed and had stopped at nothing to troll around the caves for her favorite individuals. As the sister to Clint's own deceased dire wolf, Arrow, she often went out of her way to enjoy his attention.

Clint backed away on the bed spread, keeping himself at as great a distance as he could manage without tumbling straight to the floor. Not understanding his disquiet, Laice merely hopped her front paws onto his mattress and forced her large, black nose into his palm for a pet. Her tail swished like a helicopter rotor. Short yipping barks grumbled in her throat.

"Thor!" Clint exclaimed, unsure of whether he should accept the attention or fight it off. Half a second later, Fehreh burst into the room.

"Oh, Laice! Get off the man! What manners has my Rinon taught you?! Off!" Fehreh took the wolf about the scruff and used all her strength to pull her away. Thinking herself part of a game of chase, Laice burst off again, thundering passed Thor, and into the other halls beneath the mountains. An exhausted groan pulled from Fehreh's lips. She trudged out after the wolf.

"It seems that has not been the only disturbance," Thor said, laughing. "Our friend wolf has disrupted fair Pepper's meal which has landed upon Stark. He repays her with a trade of fruit pastry against her face. I believe a small war has broken out!" Thor propped the door open with his foot and leaned into the hall, describing the events. "It is nothing of the wars we have fought, nor the feast we have enjoyed at Odin's table." Thor paused, taking the brunt of some foreign object which slammed into his chest and deflected off again like a ping-pong ball.

"I say, Captain, I shall not take that Frost Giant attack lying down!" Thor exclaimed. A second peculiar, striped fruit went sailing through the corridor, smashing over Thor's chest, and the Asgardian glided out to attack. The sounds of laughter and a fresh, eighth-grade style food fight filtered through to Clint's private room.

Clint **confessed, he heard none of it.**

They were coming for him again. He could feel it like a cold chill starting beneath the pinpricks on his fingers and crawling straight up his nerves. Tiny shocks of pain triggering flashes of a life he couldn't remember and, dare say, tried everything to keep away from. He'd found the peculiar pin-point scars beneath his finger nails but had no notion of where they came from. The ring, fixed over his left finger, too had that peculiar air of familiarity. A name written beside his in the band. Natasha.

With a jolt of anxiety, adrenaline, and a seizure of pain the waking nightmares filtered through the confining boxes in his mind. Something had happened. Clint wasn't precisely sure himself what had changed, or why, or even how. In one moment he was simply avoiding the potential snap of a canine's jaws and the next he was gone, trapped in a world he could not explain and witnessing things that seemed much more like deja vu than the nightmares he was convinced they were.

_In his mind, he was in a tunnel. A dark, dank place and he could hear the distant paddings along the floor, the sniffing, howling, growling of a pack coming closer. His heart rate sped. He struggled under the weight of that peculiar vision and whispered for rescue._

"Thor?" He called quietly, overcome in those thoughts, that trauma . . . the memories.

Clint experienced the images like a man watching a movie reel. In his mind his voice called again, screaming Thor's name as he tried to rouse the Asgardian from his sleep.

_Thor never moved. He lay along the floor, silent as the dead until another light burst into the darkness. Clint watched a woman drift into his vision. She was beautiful, like an angel stooping over him._

The vision changed again.

_The tension of the bow stretched in his hand when he placed the arrow along the string and let the shaft fly! Down, the massive jaws of the canine snapped. The head dipped, turned just enough for Clint to see the figure standing just behind the hairy monster's back._

_A voice whispered in his ear._

_"You have heart."_

Gasping, fighting against it all, Clint reached for the nightstand and dragged whatever he found there to the floor. He called the Asgardian's name again but his voice was low, weak, and over the excitement next door he was sure they must not hear him.

The image changed.

_No longer in the dark caves, he stood on the precipice of an ocean with Thor flanking him on one side and the Avengers on the other. Clint's face was obscured by the dark red cape and hood draped down over him. His bow caught the cascade of heaven's stars spread out above them while the bowstring pulled back. The arrow he fired arched high into the air, trailing a comet of fire along its tail until it landed in a small boat floating in the sea. At once he had the impression that the angelic woman, Frigga, was dead._

_A wolf bounded by him, Clint felt the thump of paws beneath his feet. His face turned and caught sight of the familiar old face. A muzzle coated in silver and black, wide dark eyes leading up to rounded tipped ears which telescoped about._

_**I'm here**_,_ the wolf seemed to say without any words at all. **I will never leave**._

_But the wolf did leave. Stooped in the snow of a lonely mountain side, Clint's heart split in half watching his beloved friend bleed to death. His hand's pressed into the seeping wounds, keeping him alive seconds longer and screaming in desperation for help to find him. Screaming to get away. Screaming . . ._

"Thor!" Clint called again in his present mind, fighting those memories off. He didn't want them, he never wanted that pain, that sadness welling up in him again. Thor had not returned, though Clint was not alone.

Suddenly he perceived a man looming over the end of his bed. Clint had never seen him before. He had a smooth face, short, curled brown hair and a brilliant red cloak. Clint stared at that fabric for a while, remembering himself wearing it once when he ushered Frigga across the sea to her rest.

"Stop it," Clint whispered, forcing those memories back. "Stop them. I didn't want them. How could anyone want them?!"

The Sarhorn watched him very closely before deciding to speak. "You are fixated on the suddenness that has encumbered your life. The trauma you suffered forcing the goodness away as if it never once existed. You serve our role. Why do you now reject my help?"

"It hurts," Clint admitted, squeezing his eyes closed.

_All the love he felt for that beautiful wolf, Arrow, suddenly collapsed. He watched the gunshot strike through the wolf's chest. Held his body while he died. But there was still more. A smile, leading up to beautiful, round eyes. A face followed the name. Marie. Reaching out to hold his child. He would give her the world. Then tears. Lying in bed unable to move, wracked in fever while Tony stood over him, unable to touch him, comfort him. Dead, the Avenger whispered. Both of them dead. To be incinerated. Virus. Spreading. No way to see them. Never again. Stolen and buried in unmarked graves with the millions of others._

"I don't want to know them. I don't want to remember them. Why would anyone want to have that pain back? I'm not him. I don't remember him. I don't want to be Clint anymore."

The Sarhorn took a few steps around the end of the bed, approaching with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. He leaned down a little toward Clint. "You were asked once to usher Frigga's life into its end. To release her to us and never once did you claim the strain too much to bear. As Arrow met his end, you saw that great expanse open to you and watched him climb the stars to his ancestors. We have given you this challenge, Clint Barton, because we knew you would not falter. You have done everything as you have been asked. You may take your paradise. It waits for you. Reach out for it."

_Forward the memories sailed. Clint watched himself sitting on the floor of his archery range. His brain splitting headache bursting behind his eyes while the liqueur glass filled again. Cancer. He had cancer, he was blind, and he was going to die. Worse than any of those was Tony sitting on the floor beside him feeling so utterly useless. He would watch his friend die in his arms._

_The stroke. Clint knew something was wrong, could feel a new, peculiar pain he couldn't quite understand. He had to get back to the mansion, finish setting his life in order before the cancer took him away for good. He contemplated suicide then. It would have been nothing to throw himself from the rooftop and end his life forever. Occasionally he wondered why anyone ever stopped him. Why Bruce Banner stopped him, if it meant living through what Clint had just survived._

"You were not saved from that disease, Clint Barton, to die. You were saved to live," the Sarhorn went on. He slid into the bed beside Clint's arm and looked gently down on the man.

"Why was this so hard?" Clint whispered, shaking his head. Somehow he knew the peculiar man across from him. He knew who he was, a Sarhorn, a Mal-Ahk, whatever the galaxy named the creatures. The ancient beings sending messages throughout the galaxy. Existing before the Celestials, before Galactus, before the Dark Elves and the Light Elves split Alfheimr in two. Seven ruling members still traveling the universe, and this was one of them, this one called himself Gabriel, more for flamboyance and because that was what Peter Quill once needed to hear. Clint used to say he'd never met a Sarhorn, but that wasn't exactly true. He'd met this one, once, on the eve of Frigga, Thor's mother's, funeral many years before.

_To be accepted to an Asgardian funeral was something of a spectacle in itself. Murdered by the Dark Elf, Malakith, Frigga's funeral had been swift, rushed, and the realm required an archer to fire the flaming arrow into the ship sailing her body across the sea. Clint was the obvious choice, being so close to her in life. He had been in Hogun's room, preparing for the ceremony. __Clint needed formal clothes, something he always borrowed from Hogun when he joined others in Asgard. As he stood contemplating the limited options in that warrior's closet, the Sarhorn came to him. Seeing the being in the reflection of a looking glass, Clint turned._

_"If you are with Volstagg, then I don't care what he says. Revels are not happening tonight. Not in his care. If you come on Thor's behalf, I am almost done."_

_"I come on your behalf."_

_That was a strange answer, Clint considered at the time. He analyzed the man a little more. Determining him to be no one of Asgard, though that meant little. The funeral brought many people from all the Nine Realms. He didn't recognize any particular race in this one._

_"Do we know each other?" Clint asked._

_"Soon, you shall," the Sarhorn replied. He hooked a thumb into the clasp of his red cloak and carefully pulled it free. He held the fabric in his hands, and stretched it toward Barton._

_"Very few may hold the distinction of which you now_ _attempt. To release her soul to the stars, to its rest, is accomplished only by those with a blessing in our race. I have come to accept the task myself should the archer not be worthy and somehow I sense that you are. However, I do have a message for you."_

_Clint looked around the room, wondering if the man was serious or not. Finding no hidden Tony Stark or snickering Fandral, he decided to play this man's game. "All right, I'll buy. I have to wear the Superman cape. Now what?"_

_"Now you must accept."_

_Clint reached out to take the cloak, but the being retracted his hand, lifting his index finger in warning. "Do not take his charge lightly. You accept this, and you accept a great hardship. Your life has been fraught with misery, Clint Barton, but to take on that which I do, to become a defender of the very universal balance of which our eyes see, is a great task."_

_Clint smirked. "I just like the fancy duds, as Steve would say. I think Tony would approve of hot-rod red. It's kind of his color. He might even get jealous."_

_The Sarhorn gave him a critical look. Suddenly Clint had the impression they were not just talking about Frigga's funeral. He looked at the cloak again. It seemed this being, who knew him very well, was attempting to recruit him for something greater than the Avengers._

_"What exactly are you asking me to do?" he said cautiously._

_"Nothing. Only continue to be the Archer, the Champion of Midgard, Brother of Asgard, and all those other things you accomplish without ever giving it a second thought. One day, it will end, and you will know when that day comes. You may not see me again, but you will receive a message from us. For now, continue to fight." The corner of the being's mouth turned upward. "To join us means impossible tasks asked of you. Ones you can accomplish though you may think them beyond you." He held the cape out a final time and allowed Clint to take it. "You will never be asked to do more than we know you can take. Do not abandoned that reliance on your friends. It is the very breath of you."_

_Stepping back into the shadows from which he came, the Sarhorn disappeared, leaving Clint, and his new role, behind._

"You were never asked to do this knowing you would not surpass it. You must trust that guidance you have always been given. This was a test for your friends, your family, as much as for you. There was never a moment in this life we considered you might fail. But it is time to rest in that victory, Clint Barton. Stop fighting, stop disbelieving, and reliving only the trials. You can never be the man you once were, you cannot heal your entire life with the wave of a hand. Consequences occur with which we must live through. You must remember the good to become a new man again."

Clint tried to listen to that little voice in the back of his mind. The one that told him to stop running, stop trying to escape from everything, and face that final dive into oblivion. The consequences forgotten.

So he faced it. He let the memories come. He didn't fight them off, beat them back, or squeeze them into the little box he'd filled in his mind. They loosed on him all at once, leaving him desperate and breathless. The good mixed with the nightmares and suddenly he experienced the moment that never occurred when he dropped into the abyss on Nova Luna. His entire life flashed before his eyes.

Growing up in Iowa. Fishing with his brother. His father's drunken rage. The kindly woman at the boys' home. Running to the Circus. Trick Shot. Prison. Meeting Coulson. Joining SHIELD. Tortured by Natasha Romanov. Marrying Bobbi Morse, and getting his divorce papers on Valentines' Day. Loki. The Avengers. Mexico. Plane crash. Brother.s Coulson lives. Going deaf. Meeting Arrow and losing Arrow. The Frost Giant war. The Enchantress. Rescuing Phil. Frigga's funeral. The commission from the Sarhorn. Risking his life on Alfheimr. Watching his brother take a bullet for him. Rescuing Kate Bishop. Marrying his second wife, and losing her. Cancer. Blind. Stroke. . .

Watching Natasha's face as he fell. Staring up into her eyes one last time knowing that what he did would give her enough time to get away.

He was saving her.

He was saving all of them.

Clint pushed himself up. His body was heaving, lungs threatening to burst under the strain. He tugged at the mattress. The Sarhorn was gone, receding into nothing as if he materialized in the room from the very dust and particles in the air. The fog of the last months lifted. Everything fell away. He awakened to himself as if only minutes had passed since the leap into the abyss. And Clint remembered. He remembered everything.

"Thor?!" Barton exclaimed. When that did nothing, he nearly yanked himself right out of bed. He yelled louder, holding a hand across his chest where the wounds threatened to tear open under his onslaught.

"Thor!" he screamed.

The Asgardian returned, his face bright in mirth from the events a door away. "Easy, my friend! I confess, there is nothing of importance you have missed. I seem to have suffered the fate of a puj fruit and maybe some lyolu sauce." He scrubbed his palm across the smear on his cheek and inspected it. "Forgive me, I have no idea at all what I was hit with."

"What are you doing here?!" Clint asked, his voice pitched.

Curious now, Thor looked at him. The archer's expression was wild and disoriented. He wanted to get up, but cried out when his wounds protested. Clint took the blankets and pulled them off of himself, he gripped his bow, searched for an arrow, and would have jumped right out of bed if Thor didn't close in on him.

"Wait!" Thor cried. "You will hurt yourself! Rest easy, please, we are under no attack. There is no reason to be dismayed."

"How did I get here?!" Clint demanded, fighting against him. "I'm supposed to be on Luna! Where is Tony? Why did you bring me here? Did Galactus get the Gauntlet? Thor, let me go!"

"You are in hysterics. Release your weapon and speak plainly with me, my friend." In shock, Thor staggered back. The Clint he spoke with only moments before knew nothing at all about Galactus or the Infinity Gauntlet. If Thor didn't know any better, he would think that the old Clint had miraculously re-emerged.

"I am not hysterical!" Clint shot back. He did let his bow go and the weapon disappeared. "I just need to know what happened. I'm in the Untamed Caves. Why? The last thing I remember was—" He stopped very suddenly and the color utterly drained out of him. "I jumped."

It couldn't be! Thor knelt in front of him, searching Clint face for that recognition which had left him for so long. "Clint of Barton, please, tell me you know my face, that you know the adventures we have had together! If you know who I am, then answer me this: what was the name of my mother?"

Clint grabbed Thor's cape in his good hand and tugged the Asgardian a little closer. "Thor, son of Odin and Frigga, heir of Asgard and the owner of the most horrendous step brother in the Nine Realms, you better tell me how the hell I ended up here before I tell Pepper to never bake you chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies ever again! Even on Christmas!"

There was nothing Thor could do to restrain himself from his joy. He grabbed Barton in an embrace, wounds forgotten and kissed Clint's cheek in utter, unbridled excitement. Clint fought to get him off but against the Asgardian's strength he was hardly a match. Thor tore away from him, kicked open the room door and sent it splintering off its hinges.

"BARTON HAS RETURNED!" The Asgardian boomed for all of the mountains and caves to hear.

_Uh, oh_, Clint thought. The Sarhorn forgotten, the conversation buried deep where he would likely not remember, he attempted to catch up on what he had missed in the perceived hours since he'd fallen into the crevice on Nova Luna. Apparently wherever he'd been was a dark and lonely place to have Thor so shocked at his appearance again.

Tony threw himself into the room. He was covered in jam of no less than three varieties and something else smashed across the top of his hair. Clint wanted to laugh about how utterly ridiculous he looked, but he had the feeling Tony wasn't in a gaming mood. Much the same way Thor approached him, Tony repeated.

"Clint?" he asked, his voice steeped in trepidation.

"Genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist?" Clint replied.

"I hate you," Tony said. He meant the opposite. He couldn't help the words spilling out of his mouth in time with the waterworks someone turned on in his eyes. Like an avalanche, the rest of the team appeared in the doorway. Steve, Bruce, Pepper, lastly Natasha and then behind them came more: Reylano, Fehreh, Faraday, Heho, Rinon, and Yeyil. The room was packed with more souls than the first day of Clint's admittance to the elves' care. There were tears, congratulations, someone appeared with glass and drinks which were passed around like a true celebration. Clint caught fragments of the reality of his story from the frantic voices crowding in on all sides. He struggled to keep up.

He'd jumped. He actually jumped, destroyed the gauntlet, and somehow he had survived. The series of events was infinitesimally intricate. He could have never assumed anyone would survive what he had, and yet there he was in the company of friends. He begged to know the names of those lost, but that was for another time. They had only just gotten him back, wholly back. They deserved this chance to see his happiness and not sorrow.

"And what is that?" Clint asked, pointing out the bundle in Pepper's arms. She made no move to try and hide it from him. He looked over at Tony and slapped the Avenger with the back of his good hand. "I die and you knock up my sister? How is that fair?"

"Sister-in-law," Pepper corrected, squeezing by Thor to lay the baby in Clint's grasp.

Clint's lips pursed together. He couldn't believe the sight. Tony Stark, the man who hit on more women than Hugh Hefner on Spring Break, was not only a married man, he had a baby! A literal, living, breathing child that was part of his own DNA. The baby was asleep, despite the noise in the room, and Clint didn't want to risk waking him up. He knew the wrath of a mother whose baby had been disturbed.

"Oh my God, Pepper," he whispered, taking in the sight.

"Benjamin Francis Stark," Tony said proudly. If any man needed a cigar in his mouth and an American flag flying behind his back it was him.

"Ben. That's a good name. Very Bruce Banner of you."

Eyes turned to Bruce.

"Clint knew your middle name and none of us did?!" Tony exclaimed.

Bruce shrugged. "He asked me once. It's not like I keep it a secret."

Clint searched beneath the blanket folds for the perfect ten fingers and ten toes. Ben stretched out of the warmth, yawned a big, toothless grin and scrunched up his face. Clint's heart absolutely melted. "Does this mean I'm an uncle?" Clint whispered.

"Uncle, godfather, second father," Pepper ticked off the titles on her fingers. "You might as well have had him yourself."

Feeling now might be the right time, Natasha lighted away for a brief moment to take little Alice from the elven nurse who helped care for her. Certain elves were remarkable with children. They loved each and every opportunity to hold the new life themselves in hopes that they may too be blessed with progeny. Others, such as Rinon, had no talent whatsoever.

Clint looked up when Natasha returned. "No!" he exclaimed. Pepper whisked her baby away so his arms could be free to take the next one. Natasha moved around Tony, who had decided to lay head-to-feet beside Clint in bed, and settled the second baby in Barton's arms.

"This is Alice," Natasha said.

"Alice? Like my grandmother, Alice?" Clint said, holding her.

Bruce and Thor exchanged happy glances and bumped fists.

Clint kicked Tony's shoulder with the better of his two legs. "You devil! Saddling Pepper with two kids. What kind of cruel slave driver are you?" he joked. This baby was wide awake. She looked up into his face and reached at him with those searching little hands. Unable to resist, he dropped his nose right into their grip.

"Don't look at me, I only made one," Tony said, lifting his hands.

Confused, Clint looked at Pepper who confirmed it. He instead tried to find any other possible donor to the child's DNA pool. "Thor?"

A booming laugh. "Not yet, my friend. Though with Jane's insistence I doubt it may be long."

Clint's eyebrow arched. "Bruce?"

A sidelong face. Definitely not Bruce Banner.

"Steve?" Clint's next logical choice.

"Nope," the Captain replied, enjoying this game.

He inspected the baby's ears, discovering they were not at all elven in shape. That only left the Midgardians in the room, which made positively no sense at all. He began to wonder if Tony was actually pranking him about not having twins.

Stark sat up on one elbow and tapped Barton's leg. In a perfect rendition of any daytime-television reality show he said: "Clint Barton, you are the father."

"But that's not even . . ." Clint looked at the baby again, flashbacks to his first departed child filled him in recognition and at the same time fear. "I can't . . ." He looked at Natasha, then the baby, and then Natasha. "You can't . . ."

"Evidently I can. Because I did. Her middle name is Rellya," she said calmly.

Clint's face crumbled as he came to terms with what she meant. A daughter. They had a daughter. Little Alice Rellya, named after him and his grandmother. She was his. Nothing could replace the baby he'd lost or the wife who died, but this brought such a completeness in his life he could hardly believe it. As little Alice grabbed the end of his nose and attempted to maul his chin with her gum-filled mouth she pulled her hands away to inspect the peculiar wetness leaking from her father's face.

In a feeble voice he spoke to the small child in his arms. "Hi, Alice. My name . . ." he swallowed, trying to speak despite the lump in his throat. "My name is Clint. I'm your daddy."

Even if the nearly emotionless Logan was in the room, he would find himself bawling just as badly as every other being who stood by.

"I'm so sorry," Clint said, unable to hold back the sentiment. He looked up at his wife. "You went through this alone? Tasha, I would never have wanted that for you. Not alone. Never like that. I'm so sorry I wasn't there. I should have been there. This wasn't fair for you."

Natasha dropped onto the mattress beside him, sitting on Tony's legs and not caring an ounce about his protests. "Alone? You think I did this alone? I couldn't even if I tried! Bruce slept in bed with me, even though I told him I'd stab him in the leg. Steve followed me around everywhere I went because you told him to, just in case you died. Tony handed me twenty billion dollars, and the fifteen stash houses you had just along the east coast. Pepper and I were pregnant and hormonal, and our legs swelled up all at the same time. Thor massaged our feet and snuck into my hospital room when I wanted to have the baby by myself and told me stories about you. I tried to be alone. I tried very hard to never be a mother, or get attached. I tried to give our baby to Tony and Pepper because I knew they could raise her better than I did. But you know what I found out? That no matter where I went or what I did, you always had a plan waiting for me. A way to keep me from running. The minute I saw our girl, after she nearly killed me coming out, I saw you and I never wanted to let her go. Not ever."

Clint took her chin in his hand and pulled her against his lips with their baby nestled between them. He had everything he ever wanted. All he needed now was to get better. Survive. Push on and live his life with his family.

Their tender embrace over, Clint threw a look at Bruce. "You slept with my wife!?"

* * *

AHHHHHH! So MUCH HAPPENED!

Clint is a Defender of the Universe? Totally fitting. He has his memorries back? HOOT! He has to heal on his own? Well Crap. And the family is back together! YAY!

What can happen now? Only 2 more chapters and an epilogue left!

please review!


	60. Chapter 58

_NOTICE: THE ENDING WILL BE POSTED TONIGHT!_

quiet-raindrop: HAHAHAHA. Oh, Thor. I did love him. I am so happy you loved the reveal!

5mairer: YAY! I made you happy!

Guest "happy dance":: keep on dancing! (while you can ;)

shila1378: I just can't even, thank you so very much for the compliments! Gosh, could you imagine this as a movie? I would just die to see it. And thank you very much for your kindness!

discordchick: Baby Alice and her daddy, Clint the Defender of the Universe (or is he one of many?!) and of course, it all comes back to that man we know and love. The archer who has heart. God, i love him.

khaitosfren: When i wrote that line about Bruce and Natasha, I nearly fell off my chair laughing.

Batghost: :D!

Ms. Hawkeye: Alice is gonna be a little heart breaker for sure!

amy. .9: I am considering, eventually, compiling these stories into a sort of serial writing. It would be too big in print for a single book. However, the perfectionist in me would require a professional to comb through the entire series and assist with the linear nature, hard facts, and copy-to-print work.

ClintandNatasha: Clint's back! But for how long? HMMMM

JRBarton: Thank you so much! I appreciate all the sacrifices you have made for me:)

* * *

Chapter 58

"It's called a diaphragmatic hernia. It's when there is a tear in the muscle that separates your chest from your abdomen. Your abdominal organs, in your case your stomach and liver, can shift freely into your chest. Now, it _has_ been healing. That's not an issue. We can leave things exactly as they are. You stay here, and eventually you will recover perfectly well between what Thor and the air here are doing. But, a diaphragmatic hernia is something that can be fixed back on Earth too. The decision is yours. I can only give you the pros and cons of staying or going."

Clint sat up in his bed with Natasha lying next to him, Tony at his feet, and both babies being rotated around the trio. Beside him, a team of healers had gathered to discuss what their next step in Clint's care should be. Currently, Bruce campaigned for an attempt at going back to New York General.

Heho listened to all the points made, and took up the conversation as Bruce ended. "You have progressed quite remarkably. I have no doubt, with time and a steady work ethic, you may again walk normally, though I would not recommend staying from us too long so that such recovery may be assured. Here, it may be another month, or more, before your body finds a way to close the defect on its own power. It will happen, eventually. You may not see it with your naked eyes, but myself and others know very well what it is this air is doing for you. In a way, think of it as a scaffold. To leave may remove that careful bridge keeping your wounds intact."

"Clint's lungs aren't fully working yet. This place is like a hyperbaric chamber. He hits Earth, and his body's not going to know what to do," Tony stated. He sat up and handed Alice to Clint.

Clint cradled his daughter in his lap. He decided to be a passive observer in the conversation until all of the facts hit the table.

"That is a concern. A big one, I might add," Bruce affirmed. "I can have the surgical team prepped on the transport pad with a mobile O2 unit ready to go. We'd arrive through the Bifrost, land on the Heli-Pad, and you'd instantly be put into the O2 chamber."

"Will that be enough?" Natasha asked, giving Ben back to Pepper, who sat on a chair by the bed.

Heho exchanged a glance with Bruce.

"We assume it may. All of this is unprecedented. We have no real way of knowing," the elf said.

"Well, I'm not just going to wait in this bed forever and hope that everything goes as planned. I'm ready to actually do something about it," Clint told them, looking around for opposition. "Thor can have Heimdall waiting at the Bifrost should something go wrong, and I can come back. Right?"

"Such provisions have been arranged already," the Asgardian king stated.

"Besides, I've already died once. I'm not in a hurry to do it twice. First sign of trouble, we come back here."

Heho and Bruce both agreed.

No one knew how the transport would actually go. So much was still unknown about the Untamed Caves and their healing properties in men. Studies done, never fully quantified their success and, despite taking all necessary precautions, it was a real possibility that bringing Clint out of their midst, might reverse a lot of the accomplishments he'd already made. But an attempt must be made. Bruce had to know if the theories he spun in private were being validated by the moment. Was Alfheimr, the breathing planet, keeping Clint alive? If it was, then did he have any chance of leaving the place ever again?

The whole world might have ignored the fact that the Avengers had fallen off the face of the Earth, but they would not continue to walk blindly forever. At the very least, Tony, Pepper, and Bruce must return home. Benjamin Stark wouldn't stay behind without his parents. Natasha may hide out slightly longer and raise no suspicions, though Steve could not. A month had passed already. Only four days of which included a fully aware Clint Barton. None could face the risk of leaving now and, indeed, none planned to. Dash the Earth and all her cares. In this stage of life, only family mattered. The Avengers had everything they required right here.

Bruce and Heho joined the other four healers in the next room. They planned to fashion a gurney to transport Clint on through the Bifrost. First, the troop would land, briefly, on Asgard, and instantly continue on to Midgard from there. Bruce would go ahead of the others, and be sure all his provisions had been met. There was no sense in waiting any longer.

"I think I'll get our things together," Pepper said, passing Ben to Thor.

Natasha grinned. "Yeah, suppose you're right. Alice might freak out if we leave that stuffed crinkle butterfly here. Remind me to tell Happy he has excellent taste in baby gifts." She squeezed Clint's hand as she stood. He held onto her, letting their fingers slowly drift apart as she walked away after Pepper.

Clint watched the sway of her hips as she left before turning his attention down to down the baby in his lap.

Tony considered him for a few minutes, then said, "Amazing, isn't it?"

Clint snickered, glancing over at him. "I just don't know what to think. I mean, one minute I'm unconscious, the next I'm awake and everyone's here, and someone tells me I jumped and had a baby, but that was months ago? I've taken some knocks before, but not a full nine months' worth."

"Forget what you think. Imagine us?" Tony quipped. "God, Clint, you were dead to us. Dead! Not injured, not lying in some bed on Alfheimr. We buried you, how many times, Thor?"

Thor bounced the child in his arms. "Let me see. There was the first ceremony on Alfheimr, then we held a larger one during my father's after that. Xandar had quite the dedication as I recall, which the Guardians spearheaded. And, of course, Midgard."

"There! Four times. Oh, and you might not really get the fact that Natasha went through an emergency c-section, almost died, and your baby came out almost dead. So, for a few hours there, when no one told us anything, I thought we'd buried you all over again. So five. Let's just call it five."

Clint swallowed, sensing the depth of the pain Tony finally brought to the surface. His hand massaged along the baby's stomach, comforting her and himself all at once. He began to say something, an apology perhaps, but Tony stopped him before he ever had a chance.

"Oh, no you don't!" he exclaimed, "You did everything you were supposed to. You fought. You jumped to certain death, animals tore you apart, and you kept fighting. Now you're back, that's all that matters. I don't care if you never go back to Earth, Clint. I really don't. Live here forever if you want."

He smiled a little. Tony didn't exactly mean that. Of course they wanted him to return to Earth, return to the lives they had as young men again. There was something, though, he had caught on to that the others might not admit. He turned his attention to Steve, who was making funny faces at a wide-eyed Benjamin.

"What about you, Steve? You decide to take Thor's offer yet?" Clint asked.

Shocked, Steve paused in the middle of his hand-antlers jiggling on either side of his face. Like a child caught in a secret he should not be keeping, the captain looked about him at the others. Only Thor, Tony, Clint, and the children remained in the room.

Tony folded his arms, cocking an eyebrow. "Oh? And what offer is that, exactly?"

Clint appeared amused. "Aw, come on, Tony. You didn't see that? Thor's the king on Asgard now. He's not going to just give up the throne. With Loki's reformation, that Thor's been talking my ear off about by the way, if he doesn't claim his rights, then Loki can. Honestly, who remembers how that went before?"

Tony spun his hand in the air, trying to get to the point.

"Thor's going back home. Veurr's the new military leader. Pepper said you need a replacement Captain Of The Guard, and I think she considered me taking it. But you know I won't, not with my family I have to look out for. The most logical choice, is Steve. You wanted that job once, as I remember. Odin offered it to you at the end of the Frost Giant War. There's no reason to turn it down anymore."

A slow grin widened over Thor's face. "My friend, I am still unsure whether or not I missed your powers of deductive prowess."

Tony feigned utter shock. "Steven Rogers, you cad! Captain America, leaving the blues and stripes behind for foreign monarchies? You've gone bloody British."

Steve rolled his eyes. "OK, this is why I didn't tell anyone right away. I wanted to, you know, find the right time to kinda suggest it."

"Oh, Clint took your 'right time' and sunk it like a carrier on a Battleship board. You are officially ousted. That's it! You are off the Christmas card list. I simply won't spend the stamps to send intergalactic mail."

Bruce's head popped in through the open doorway. "All right, we're all set here. Thor, might want to get Heimdall to fire up our path."

:(:):(:):

Precious few had any indication that the cargo they currently transported, and waited to care for, was in fact the supposedly deceased legend, Clinton Francis Barton, hero of Hawkeye's Keel, and defender of the universe.

No one on the Earthen medical team knew the true identity of their patient, beyond the fact that he was a survivor of the war, requiring specialized medical attention. Heimdall had been given no prior warning, though the minute Clint was carried out of the Untamed Cave's mouth, the Watcher of Asgard saw him in an instant. Loki, who had wandered into the Bifrost beside him on curiosity's sake, had to hold Heimdall upright when a wave of shock nearly overtook him. Thor laughed slightly at his stricken reaction.

Not understanding the joke, Loki waited until the 'important person' appeared like a flash on Asgard, then banished away again just as fast. His own face turned to a striking, excitable blue when he threw it towards Thor. Asgard's new king laughed a second time over.

Clint arrived as they had carefully planned. A team of elven healers accompanied him, meaning to transition his care as gently as possible. He was excitable, though understandably so. They sensed his heart rate spike on the trip through the Bifrost and landing back on Earth. For the first time in technically seven years, Clint hardly knew how to react. He took it all in at once. The sight of Stark Tower in the distance, Avengers Mansion tucked on the other side of the city, the Empire State Building, Reed Richard's place. The sun setting behind the walls of mortar, brick, and glass. A swell of pride, hominess, and utter relief washed over him. He had fought so hard for this moment.

But then, it began to change. He hadn't troubled over it, at first, for his attention was too focused on all the excitement waiting for him out there. Baseball games on Saturday mornings, hot dogs in Central Park, chlorinated swimming pools in summer, he wanted everything. His body, though, began to fail him.

His heart rate spiked before he was pulled off the gurney. His face flushed, then changed, and a slow, purple-blue tinged the base of his lips and fingers. Clint was gasping, though he didn't realize it until the medical team had crowded almost on top of him and blocked the view of the setting sun.

His vision blurred. A cough formed in his throat that he couldn't hold back, and suddenly the cough became a wheeze. He inhaled, his larynx slamming together, trapping his trachea. It was like inhaling through a straw. Panicked, his eyes widened. He coughed again. Wheezed, inhaled, coughed.

A glass cover slammed closed over the bed he'd been placed on. It sealed him inside, beyond the hands of the men and women around him. Above his head, there came a rush of cold, dry air blasting down at him.

Cough, wheeze, inhale, choking, exhale, cough, wheeze, struggling to get his chest to rise. Eyes clouding over. He wanted to speak, but every effort went to breathing. He had to breathe.

"Bruce? Oh my God, is that him? Bruce, that's him!" Dr. Castillo shot out of the hospital doors, her lab coat fluttering around her. She squeezed in beside her colleagues to stare down at the man squirming beneath the glass.

"Hang on a sec, everyone, we need to see if this is going to work or if we have to take him back," Bruce told them, taking command of the situation. Heho pushed in at his side, double checking the oxygen saturation. They had reached 100%, a difficult task in a mobile unit.

"Is that who I think it is?" One of the other doctor's asked, looking around for confirmation. "That's Hawkeye, isn't it? We're treating Hawkeye!"

Heho looked up at Bruce. Concern, obvious in his eyes. "He deteriorates."

Clint tilted his head back, eyes blinking against the unclear focus. He clawed around the bed beneath him to find something to hold. Instead, he pressed his hand against the glass round top. Wheeze, cough, inhale, exhale, wheeze . . . his throat felt more closed than ever, like a sudden fit of anaphylaxis had grabbed hold of him.

"I recommend sedating him, placing an ET tube. Doctor Banner, we don't have a lot of time on this. Let's get him inside now!"

Bruce could hear the surgeon's demands, repeated once, then three more times. His gaze, though, remained on Clint. He thought back to his conversation with the Elven King, about how it might be Alfheimr keeping Barton alive, how he might never get the chance to leave that place.

One of the doctors grabbed him by the arm, as if to force an answer from him, and Bruce nearly acquiesced. Clint may do better on a mechanical ventilator. His diaphragmatic hernia could tear a larger hole the more he struggled, and continue to hamper his breathing. Sedating him, controlling his airway, made sense for any normal patient they decided to care for.

Then Bruce saw something else. Heho caught the same sign instantly.

"His wounds are tearing. He bleeds again. If he is not returned, the repair he has made might disintegrate completely!" Heho declared.

"Get him back!" Bruce ordered.

As fast as the group arrived on New York General's rooftop platform, the entire troop vanished through the Bifrost once more. They didn't wait to transfer Clint onto the gurney, or even remove him from the oxygen bed. Thor joined them again on Asgard, leaving Loki (despite his hearty plea to join) behind. His brother entertained no good relations with the elven race, given all he had done to see them destroyed in the past. Certain things would take centuries to forgive.

Thor tore the lid off the bed, scooped Clint into his arms and, with Steve taking his feet, they rushed him instantly back inside. Rinon stood in the hall as they passed.

"What has happened?" he demanded, following the progression, "Does he live? Tell me, please, that he lives!"

Thor and Steve set Clint back into the comfort of the down bed. Heho and Bruce set on him instantly with an entire team of Skydale Elves, ready to force a sturdy wind right into his lungs. They peeled his bandages away and, as they had suspected, his carefully-formed new skin and bone had begun to come apart.

Heho sent a critical look toward Banner. "I think we both understand what this entails," he said with an absolute solemnity.

Beneath them, Clint struggled to catch his breath. He saw the ring of his friends and family desperately waiting around him.

How could they possibly stay together now?

* * *

may all your fears come to fruition!

please review!


	61. Chapter 59

ok.

hold onto your butts.

this is the LAST chapter before the Epilogue

Savor it.

* * *

Chapter 59

. . . Sometime in the Future . . .

Clint Barton stood at the center sink, staring through the windswept curtains at the two forms bounding across the hill only a few yards away. Brilliant light filtered through the occasional clumps of cumulonimbus stacking in the distant skies. Rain wasn't forecast for another month. The spring lilies remained tucked in their uprooted sheaths of green for that promising new life to come swamping down on them. He was in no rush. The rains lasted for at least two months, and the days always shifted to a dark, dismal state while the promise of sun-long days vanished.

"Don't let her wonder too far off, Flint! Keep close to the house. To the grass, at the least," Clint called through the kitchen window.

The massive, black wolf picked up its 5-gallon head, and swung it toward the house. A long, pink tongue lolled out of his mouth and a short, excited bark replied. The dire wolf trotted off in a circle around the Barton family toddler. She jumped excitedly at him.

"You are the biggest worry wart on the planet. I'm not even this bad," Natasha told him, arriving from the spare room. She snuck in close beside him and threaded her arms around his middle. Chin propped on his shoulder, she watched the wolf and child play. "Besides, you are letting a three hundred pound wolf play with your three year old, and the thing you worry about is whether or not she might trip on a rock."

"Flint's a good boy. He won't hurt her," Clint said.

"Oh, I have no doubt at all about that. I don't think she's even touched her mattress since he got big enough to sleep on."

"Rinon thinks it's the funniest thing every time he comes around with Valya. Those two came out of the same litter, but just the size difference, I can't even believe it."

"Arrow was as big as Valya is," Clint pointed out. "This time, I just happened to bond with a big one. Laice was a good mother to them. The last pup hasn't bonded to anyone that I know of yet. Tony keeps trying to get him to warm up to him, but I don't think that's ever going to happen."

Natasha's head dipped against his neck, sending a chill up his spine. He smiled and turned away from the window, taking her in his arms. Their kiss was rough, wild, and heated. It didn't matter how long they had lived together already, every moment of their lives made up for the time they had lost, run away, or spent trying to keep out of one another's arms. Now they loved unabashedly. Eventually Natasha forced herself off. After all, someone had to set the table, and if Clint had his way, he would find an entirely different use for that space. Natasha smiled, grabbing the mason jar of forks and moved them to the center table. Sighing, he grabbed the stack of dishes he'd been working on, and carted them off beside her.

"You save that," Natasha said, indicating his waist line and everything that lay below it, "For when we aren't having a houseful of friends in five minutes."

Clint snickered. "You aren't sticking any jokes in about what I can do in five minutes?"

She lifted a seductive eyebrow at him, that same eyebrow arch that absolutely drove him wild for her. "I don't want to boost your ego."

Now Clint laughed.

The long wooden table was sturdy enough to support even Thor slamming his glass down onto it, which had happened on many such occasions, and long enough for the entire extended Avengers' family to dine around. Usually, everyone took up their same familiar places along the two benches of seats. Only the ends of the table had single chairs, as it became much easier to store benches when not in use. The rest of the home was very reminiscent of Tony's fantasy 'hobbit hole'. Built into the side of a grassy knoll on the northern reaches of the Blue Skin Mountains, and very near where they intersected with the Lakeheed Rivers, the Barton home had all the intricacies of elven life, with the small comforts of Midgard to keep them well adjusted.

Porthole windows extended through the earth, allowing light in at all angles, and wide, two man-sized halls created a labyrinth of passages from the under-hill home to the taller above-hill structure only a spiral staircase away. Despite Clint's lackluster appreciation for tunnels of any sort (he had a less than stellar history with them on Earth), these halls were so packed in hard work, sweat, and personal touches, that he experienced no disdain for living in their confines. In fact, he began to love them more than the above-hill home, for the exception of his bedroom being up there. No man in his right sense would go on without that.

Along the halls of the under-hill, were little doors. Behind the little doors, were little portals, all individuals, and all labeled specifically in Elvish and English, with signs tacked right over the door posts. Loki had specifically created and designed them for the Barton family use. Clint kept away at the time the Frost Giant came by. After all, he was a man of his word. And he didn't exactly like the idea of murdering someone who came to do him a service as an act of seeking forgiveness.

Two portals led to Midgard, another to Asgard, a third to Xandar and so on, were added as the couple saw fit. Rarely did the Xandar portal find a knock on its outer side, for Peter Quill was much too busy these days trying to fight a certain someone over the rights to Gamora's heart. So much was his fury over the green woman's 'stepping out', he had declared a Guardian of the Galaxy war against none other than Loki himself. Loki, laughing off the notion, froze Quill in place for seven days in the Asgardian courtyard. Eventually, Rocket had a measure of pity on him, and came calling with a long extension cord, and a hairdryer. No one expected a relationship with Loki to last, but for now, it kept them out of trouble, and that was all the universe could ask for.

Other doors saw a greater influx of friends and family. Midgard, in particular, hardly shut at all. There were two, in fact, leading to that place. It became much easier to install one leading directly to Stark Tower, the living room/kitchen in fact, and the other existed at Bruce's part-time residence in Princeton. Often, to save on travel, the scientist would walk through the portal door, enjoy coffee at Clint's home, and walk through the other to enjoy some time with Stark. The idea had been so much a success, Clint hardly shut them at all, unless Alice decided to go trotting by on unsteady feet.

More times than he cared to recount, Alice had appeared, albeit briefly, on Asgard or Midgard. Flint took his charge very seriously, and on just such occasions, headed right into 'search mode'. It never took more than half an hour to come back with the laughing, wayward girl, and usually an Avenger was attached as well.

The over-hill house was a continual work in progress. Clint never found himself quite satisfied at its completion, and enjoyed randomly destroying a wall one day, reforming it the next, and shifting around the current rooms they did have. The only room he hadn't touched in the past six months, was the kitchen. Partly, because it was in use so often he had no time to consider it out of commission, and partly because it had become almost a staple in their lives. Changing it, shifted that invisible balance the Avengers had fallen into. It housed all their memories; the things that tied the travelers to their homes. Since the Time Stone had shifted the majority of the Nine Realms, the individual system of planets now existed on the same, basic timeline. No longer did hours on Asgard translate to days on Midgard, or days in Alfheimr turn to months. It allowed the trio of systems to not only remain consistent, the wayward Midgardians were less likely to end up in that same, age-old trap of forgetfulness. Not a day went by without someone visiting someone else, and it was that connection, that family, which kept them together. No one wanted to interfere with that.

Clint headed up the hallway, and poked his head through the Stark Tower portal. Through the warbling fluid-like texture, he emerged on the other side, and looked around the living room on Midgard.

"Tony!" he yelled through the seemingly abandoned rooms. "We are eating in twenty minutes whether you show up or not! And you better show up, because I want my cheeseburger, or someone is going to die!"

Pepper flustered around the hall corner, sunhat over her head, sunscreen turning her nose white, and a great, big straw bag hiked up over her shoulder.

"Coming!" she announced, rushing over.

Clint stepped back through the portal, coughing against his arm to get his wind back. He massaged his chest, taking short breaths until he felt himself relax again.

Pepper popped in a second after him. "You will not believe the day we've had! Tony's going to tell you all about it, don't believe a word. He thought we were going to Long Beach, even though I told him Ocean City, he just had his mind set. Then JARVIS didn't want to give him directions to Long Beach, because he knew we were going further south, it was an absolute mess." Pepper took in a great breath, let it out in a mighty sigh, and dropped the bag from her shoulder. She smiled at Clint, opened her arms and wrapped them around his neck. "I missed you!"

"It's been twelve hours, and I poked in and said hi last night right before Tony broke out the extension cord and we all watched Avatar in the hallway with popcorn," Clint reminded her.

"Not the same. Not good enough," Pepper repeated, the same line she stuck to.

"Hi, Pep! Alice is out playing with Flint on the hill if you want Ben to go out. I think that wolf might just die of happiness," Natasha said, cruising up the hall. She picked up the discarded straw bag and peeked inside. Golden delicious apples, a container of Country Time lemonade, and an entire two bags from the Golden Arches. A devious smile spread over her face. Clint knew exactly what to order for a good party.

Pepper flung a hand against her forehead. "Oh, my God! Ben!" She had just about spun on her heel, and went tearing back through the portal when Tony arrived, toddler in hand, and baby bag over his shoulder.

"Someone order a set of baby-back ribs, medium well?" he asked, grinning beneath the cover of his shades.

Pepper gave him a withering look. "I've told you how many times? New jokes, Tony!"

Clint snorted. He reached over and picked up, for all intents and purposes, his nephew. "I still think it's funny."

"That's because both of you have the IQ of your kids," Natasha pointed out.

"A point, I will not argue," Clint replied. He looked critically at Tony's son. "I heard somebody is afraid of a tickle monster . . . could that somebody be you?"

Benjamin's face lit up in utter enthusiasm. Holding nothing back, Clint rushed off down the hall, mauling the little boy's abdomen and declaring that the 'tickle monster' would soon claim his next untimely victim. The sound of the child's laughter radiated throughout the under-hill home. The others followed along at a slower pace to set their wares out on the kitchen table.

"Flint! One boy-baby-Ben for special delivery!" Clint announced.

Just outside, an excited yip split the air, and a spinning, round, wood door pushed inward under the influence of a massive, wet nose. Flint's jet black ears flattened under the wooden pallet as he began to bathe the Stark child in a human-sized tongue. Clint pushed the nose back with one hand, propped the door up with the top of his head, and lifted Ben out into the grassy area just beyond the kitchen window. He let the door swing closed, like a coin rotating on its diameter, and latched it to prevent the children from falling into the kitchen.

Ben wobbled his way across the grass over to Alice. Together, they picked a handful of plastic shovels out of the big outdoor bucket, and began to dig up a few dirt clods. A proud wolf/baby protector laid down a few feet away, and watched for the predators that would never come.

"Don't you love a babysitter you don't have to pay or background check?" Clint asked, turning back to the table. Spying one of the cheeseburgers he snatched it up swiftly before Natasha could steal it away. He skirted over to the sink, attempted to lift himself up on the counter, and failed. Instead he dragged a chair over with his foot, and used it as a stool. He sat contentedly, and munched away. Tony cast a wary gaze in his direction, but said nothing.

"You're telling me!" Pepper said. "I've got a trip to Munich in two weeks, and Tony needs to be in California. I think I've screened forty-five people in the last two days."

Clint lifted his hand, eyes narrowing. "Forget baby-sitter! Pep, just bring Ben here. I can watch him."

Both Natasha and Pepper gave him a long, steady look.

"OK, fine, I promise not to do anything crazy with him, or try to teach him to swim at the age of three, and no excursions after faralirs in Woodrenkell. Good enough?"

Natasha and Pepper's attention turned to each other.

"I'll be here," Natasha said.

"OK, then that'll work."

Clint threw up his hands in defeat. Tony snorted.

Tony looked around the kitchen. "Hey, what gives? No golden boy and Thor?"

"I was so excited about bacon and cheese on a patty of mystery beef, I actually didn't go and see if they were at the door," Clint confessed, taking another, unashamed, chomp out of his burger.

"I'll get them," Pepper said. "Don't want you boys straining a muscle turning a knob or something."

She heaved out of the chair, and headed down the tunnel again as the laughs of the others receded behind her. She traced her hand along the wall tiles until she noticed the one with 'Asgard' written above, and tried the knob.

The little brass hook was set across the top, Clint's idea of child safety locks. Removing it, the door came easily open. All at once, a wobbly two year old wandered through, blowing spit bubbles between pursed lips. Thor strolled in behind the child, his hand attached to the back of the baby's coat should the boy take a face-first spill. He adjusted the strap to a sack of food and drink over his other shoulder, and smiled at Pepper.

"Fair sister! We had begun to think our presence unwelcome!" Thor declared.

"Oh no, don't think that," Pepper said. She offered to take something from him.

"Do not attempt it," Thor said, keeping his items. "They are weighty enough that I have taken them over our captain."

"I said I could carry it," Steve complained, walking in behind Thor. He shifted his own son from his left arm to the right, and drew the portal door shut at his back.

"It is hilarious that you think such things. You might match your strength against mine, my friend, but one round in the Grandstand of Bugrenkrok, and I will best you at once!" Thor replied.

"We did that three weeks ago, and as i remember it, I gave you a black eye!"

Steve leaned forward, planting a kiss on Pepper's cheek. They headed up to the open kitchen. Thor pulled the sack down from his shoulder, and left it by the nearest table leg. He put an arm around Natasha in greeting, while Tony dropped down and snatched up Thor's son.

"Mighty Max!" Tony exclaimed, lifting the boy up and blasting him off like a rocket ship. He spun the boy about around the room, running this way and that as the boy's laughter became infectious. Just outside, the desperate Flint began clawing at the little porthole trap door. He wanted a new ward to watch, like a dragon who hoarded over gold.

Tony's blastoff headed over to Clint, who stole the boy from him. The tickle monster attacked. Thor's son, breathless in utter delight, began to squeal-laugh uncontrollably. When it seemed he could take no more, it was time to join the other Avengers' kids. Clint flicked the lock on the porthole door, and Flint stepped back in excitement. Up, Thor's boy went, and Flint grabbed him by the back of his shirt. He deposited the child in the circle of others, then went bounding back to shove his nose inside and stare longingly at Steve.

"Clint, I think your dog has a problem. It thinks our children are puppies," Steve said, laughing. He passed his own boy around the circle of friends, and up to Flint to play with the other kids.

"Sif didn't come along?" Natasha asked, unpacking Thor and Steve's items.

Steve shrugged. "Little lady's off slaying Frost Giants in Muspelheim. Thinks she might be back sometime next month, but I'm not allowed to get my hopes up." He shrugged. "She carried James Erling Rogers for a full nine months, and don't you think she'd ever let me forget that."

Clint shook his head. "Should have just done what I did. You know, been dead for the whole time. Avoids a lot of that hormonal stuff."

Tony punched him. Clint scrunched his face at him and held his arm.

Pepper looked at Thor. "What about Magni?"

"Mighty Max," Tony corrected. When the others looked at him, he shrugged. "I just think it sounds less girly, especially with a dad who has long, flowing, blond locks. Might give the kid a complex."

Thor ignored him. "Jane is still finding her feet. Fandral is not making it very easy on her. I believe my friend means well in their teasing, though she does not quite understand his humor."

"It's hard adjusting to another realm. If she needs to come by, she's welcome whenever. I'm heading into the Wild South next month, but Clint doesn't go back to Lakeheed for another two," Natasha said. She extracted an ubiquitous jug from the bottom of the sack, and leveled a glare toward the two Asgardian boys. "Is this what I think it is?"

"In fact, you are wrong," Thor said, taking it and removing the cork. He passed the jug back for her to smell. "A blend of Vanaheim fluh, Joten ice, strained over Muspelheim coals. As innocuous as the juice of an orange, yet the kick of swallowing a stick lit on fire."

Clint leaned in to look. "I'm not gonna have to confiscate your keys after this party, am I, guys?"

"Thor's right. It has about as much alcohol as grape juice, but that's not what it tastes like," Steve said. Spying one of the stack of burgers, he snatched it up in overwhelmed excitement.

Noticing he might be one burger less, Clint rushed over and grabbed Steve from behind. The two wrestled around the kitchen at the others' enjoyment. In the window beyond them, Flint's head lifted to stare into the window and observe them. Noting nothing amiss, he settled again as official Avengers' nanny. Clint soon let go, knowing he wasn't going to get the upper hand, and preferring not to injure himself in the process.

"Fel lesali! Hallo, Rellya!"

Clint jogged to the other end of the hill home. He grabbed the handle of another porthole, and shoved the window outward. "Fel lesali, Rinon! We're down in under-hill."

Deep in the upper home, a solid, Woodrenkell door pushed inward under the hand of the recrowned Alfheimr king. He stepped back, letting the three excited wolves with him thunder down the spiral staircase to the under-hill side. Clint crouched down, spreading his arms wide while the three of them collided with him. The others stepped into the hall, and watched the pile of fur maul all over him. Excited yips, coos, and barks echoed in the under-hill halls. Clint struggled up under their excitement, and stumbled back toward the basement stairs nearest him. He climbed them first, lifted the doorway, and all at once, Laice and her two pups, the smaller Valya and the larger Nian, joined Flint in the child's play field. They jumped and howled together before circling up around the kids.

Clint patted the fur off his arms, and greeted Rinon who finally arrived from the upper home. They clasped arms. "Welcome, kinme, I wasn't sure you'd get away."

Rinon shrugged. It was a peculiar motion on him, but one he had picked up from his continuous company with the Midgardians he enjoyed. "It is not so difficult. Have you been waiting upon me?"

"Actually, Bruce is the last one to show. Go figure." Clint offered to take his pack, which Rinon handed over.

"I will join in a moment, let me see after friend Banner." Rinon pulled open the Midgard door, leading to Bruce's home, and disappeared inside.

Clint set Rinon's things out on the table. Everyone pressed in to see.

"If he brought those little chewy, fruity, candy things, I might just take the whole thing and run away before Bruce shows up," Steve said. Finding the exact delicacy he hoped for, he lifted the entire tray with an exclamation. He pressed the parcel against his chest and closed his eyes. "I am _so_ happy."

"Hey, guys! Sorry I'm late. I had this student freaking out about his grade, and I seriously considered Hulk-ing out for no reason at all just to get away from him," Bruce announced his presence, tumbling into the kitchen under a great flutter of movement. One bag went to Steve, another hit the table, an apple broke away from the others, and spiraled across the floor to Natasha's feet. Behind him, Rinon held a platter of fresh cut vegetables, and a center of ranch dip.

"I will be completely honest, no cooking was performed by me or anyone I could bribe. Everything you see, was graciously provided by my VISA card and Betty's trip to Shop-Rite."

Pepper shook her head, tsk-ing at him. "Someone dropped the BBQ ball. Bruce, you disappoint us all. I think we may vote you out of the club."

"Hey, I did remember to bring coffee!" He hiked a thumb over his shoulder to the cardboard container Rinon lifted.

"Forgiven. Repealed. Whatever you want, just give me coffee!" Clint exclaimed, snatching the carton and running, carefully, over to the cupboard with it.

"What happened to the kids?" Bruce looked around the floor.

"Outside with the nanny-brigade," Pepper smiled.

He glanced up to the window, and squinted through his glasses to see the ring of dirt-digging children surrounded by the four dire wolves. "Ah, should have guessed. Is that the brother and sister, Clint? Flint's litter mates, right?"

"They are, indeed," Rinon told him.

"They didn't pick anyone in particular yet?"

"Valya has," Natasha said. "She's just here for a visit. Nian is still on the hunt."

"Can I, again, point out how hilarious it is that Natasha now has to live with Flint and Clint. How did that even happen?" Tony stole one of the tea-crisps from Rinon's wares, and popped it into his mouth.

"Because flint was the main material of arrowheads," Clint said. He, with his coffee in hand, returned to the others, who began to settle around their normal spots at the table. Tony picked the singular chair on the far right head of the table, so he might enjoy having Pepper on one side and Clint on the other. Clint sat across from the outdoor portholes, giving him ample view of the playing children, and Natasha slid in beside him and Steve. Rinon took up the opposite table end, Thor being on his left and Steve on the right. Bruce sat between Thor and Pepper.

The table had once adorned the great hall in Asgard, though it had been scaled down (by way of band saw) to fit inside Clint's home. As such, its width was grand enough to supply space for all of their multi-realm eats, every dish and utensil imaginable, five squat glass jars filled with colored stones and the flowers Alice collected from the valley below them, and still there was room to spare. Once, a full eighteen people had sat around it during a particularly large party.

Settling in, passing food, and catching up on conversation, was a particular delight every last Friday of the month. Of course, those were only the scheduled gatherings. Clint couldn't think of a day he went by without entertaining one friend or another. Once, long ago, he thought that sort of life might never appeal to him. Now, he was right where he wanted to be.

:(:):(:):

"Remind me, the next time I want to eat fifteen pieces of Atlantic City fudge, drink four cups of coffee, and then steal some of Steve's candy...to steal Steve's candy first." Clint moaned, wincing as he bent over at the waist.

"Agreed, if you promise to never let Natasha boil eggs. Like, ever." Tony leaned on the rail to the garden walk. After a time, he got tired of leaning, and lifted himself up onto the large, flat top of elven carved wood.

Clint looked over, smiling. "Yeah, I know better. But, she wanted to try it."

"How did we end up with women that can't cook?"

"'Cause we ended up with women who are smart enough to get men who could?"

Tony deliberated that, and nodded. Clint had a valid point in that regard. Across the yard and down the glen, in the depressed cove behind the under-hill house, Steve and Thor were playing tag with the toddlers. Just away from them, Natasha and Pepper both distracted the non-sure-footed 'Max' and James from the worm both had desperately attempted to eat.

Rinon kept a safe distance from the children, and instead sat amongst the wolves. He was the first one to point out his lack of experience when it came to any offspring, and occasionally thanked the stars he had none. Bruce stayed beside him for company. It had been three years since he'd suffered in the caverns of Nova Luna, and still he had not fully recovered. Clint could see the pain hit Rinon occasionally, the same way it got to him. Old wounds, long scars, and battles hard fought connected them forever.

"She talking yet?" Tony asked, watching Alice trail after Thor.

"I thought she said 'ma' the other day, but Natasha didn't agree. How many words is Ben up to?"

"He said, 'Dad, I want doggy.' to me the other day. I didn't tell Pepper, she might have actually bought one. I think he really meant he wanted to come here and play with the doggy, but, you know, he's only three." Tony considered the low contents of his mug, and whether or not he'd brave another splash of the Asgardian non-alcoholic jungle ale. For now, he set it beside him. "What does Bruce say?"

Clint shrugged. "Tasha took her in to see the hearing specialist, and they said she isn't deaf. We had three or four pediatricians look at her last week, Pepper recommended a few of them and did a lot of the groundwork, but you know I always trust Bruce and you over that."

Tony nodded. He knew.

"Everyone cleared her. No auditory dysfunctions, no brain miscommunication. She just doesn't talk. It's weird, though, too. You've seen me and her together. I'm so used to handling Flint, that we know what each other's thinking without even saying anything. Well, it's kinda the same with her. Everyone knows she was a hypoxia baby, and I think they all just assumed she'd grow out of it."

"And she hasn't."

Clint glanced over shaking his head. "No. I mean, I know sign language. All of us do. So we've been debating over just doing that full time. But I'd like her to talk too. I guess we're just still trying to figure all this parenting stuff out."

"I think they wrote a manual for that."

The corners of Clint's lips upturned, and he picked up Tony's glass. Drinking the last of the contents, he sat it back down and winced again. He straightened and stretched, running a hand along the old, healed scars over his chest.

"Pain?" Tony asked.

"Only in winter, and if I do too much," Clint replied. "It's really not bad, not like that first year. God, I never want to face that again. It's worse when I decide to do a mad dash through the Tower or something on a whim. The breathing's a little better, not much, but I can only ever make it to the second elevator before my chest starts to bleed or my legs go numb."

Tony looked away. He didn't exactly approve of Clint's occasional detraction from reality that made him perform the silly stunts. Then again, if he was in Clint's position, he might do the same thing, just for a bit of fun now and again.

"How far on Asgard?"

"All the way to Hengrel's Cuff."

"And back?!"

Clint snorted, shaking his head. "Nope. Actually, Steve showed up and saw me. I think I gave the guy a heart attack. Then I started coughing up blood, and I really did give him a heart attack. I've never seen Cap sprint so fast in my life, carrying me over his shoulder. Natasha smacked me."

"Rinon any better?"

Slowly, Clint shook his head. "They don't think he ever will be. Maybe one day, but we'll all be dead by then. Fehreh's taken over much of the ruling to keep him free. He can't ride the faralirs or wolves anymore. It's too much for him. Bringing that bag in, I was worried he'd pulled something, but he seems to be moving all right. How's Bruce doing?"

Tony sighed, shrugging. "I don't know. I want him to talk about it, but he's been avoiding the subject."

"How many people are sick?"

Tony didn't reply at first, gauging how much he wanted to share. The move was as telltale, as being forthright would have been. Clint knew him well enough to interpret his silence just as easily as if he'd spoken.

"That many," Clint said, shaking his head. "I thought they had a handle on it. The virus, I mean. Bruce was so hopeful with the vaccine."

"I know. Viruses change. Shift, apparently, and most of the people, it did work for, but there's a quarter of the population infected. Took three years to span the space between Xandar and us."

"If you want to stay here for a while with Pep and Ben, just come. I don't want to see something happen to you."

Tony nodded. He'd already considered it. Betty Ross' husband was dead. Bruce worked unendingly for the past weeks trying to save the man to no avail. There she was, a widow with twin toddlers, and absolutely nothing to her name. Her husband's research had been confiscated, their accounts frozen until the government decided what they did and did not need from his personal work on the Universal Influenza Complex-2. Clint siphoned a few million dollars into a private account for Bruce to freely give to the woman. It was the least anyone could do.

"Maybe for a while," Tony said. "New York's pretty hot right now. We've been spending a lot of time in Jersey, down the shore. Pepper's worried. She knows Alfheimr is always safe."

Tony folded his arms. He spun around on the railing to face the family and friends all enjoying the last few weeks of Alfheimr spring. It was summer back on Midgard, and a wicked hot one, too. Tony didn't mind spending more time here than his air-conditioned, fumigated tower back home. Besides, his favorite family was here too. They weren't perfect, but then again they never were, and that was exactly what he liked about it.

"How'd we ever get this lucky?" Tony wondered aloud to himself, watching them all.

Clint climbed the railing beside him, and plopped down. "Well, you know, there's a funny story about that. I think it started somewhere down in Mexico, a little while after the battle of New York."

* * *

AHHHHHHHH... I just LOVE THEM!

Ok, let's sum it up: Yes, Clint can (sort of) never go home. But has he really lost anything? Natasha/Clint love? Too much. I just can't get enough. Alice and all the kids? Ben, Magni, and James? What's a girl gonna do with all that testosterone when she grows up? Well, as a daughter of Natasha, probably kick all their butts. Steve/Sif and Thor/Jane fighting it out on Asgard. Bruce maybe rekindling an old flame with Betty? He is ever the rebound! And FLINT! I know Arrow's death hit so hard, but it is so wonderful to see Clint have that love once more that he had lost.

Never Perfect, but good enough. That's how I like it.

Please review! WARNING::: The Epilogue is coming up next, and if you have read my work in the past, you know it can change everything! In Where the Worlds Burn, I revealed Clint as an old man going blind. In Sacrifice Worth Living, He had joined the heroes together to fight the Galactus War. What could POSSIBLY HAPPEN NOW?!


	62. Epilogue

I wont mince words

just remember

FINAL CHAPTER!

* * *

**I Can Hear the Drums**

Epilogue

"Backpack?"

"Yes."

"Books?"

"They don't do books, dad."

"Pens?"

"What's a pen?"

Clint looked up from the carefully formulated list Pepper created for him, and even took the time to print. Alice sat across from him with her most innocent of smiles. She got that from Natasha, whether the girl's mother wanted to admit it or not. Clint liked to think that the majority of his affable charm became seeded in Alice's young life, but he knew the best, and most influential, part of him showed in that silly little smirk she had. Somehow, Natasha became the innocent half, and Clint the mischievous one. The only one surprised, was Clint himself.

"Dad, seriously, it's fine. I did the whole pre-pack bag thing last night. It's not like I'm the only one there, so relax. If I forget something, I'll just steal it from Ben." Alice slung the backpack over her shoulder.

She'd gone on a shopping trip, one of the only such excursions she'd ever agreed to, only a week ago. Pepper and Natasha dragged her through every store in New York, and what did she come back with? A bright purple backpack.

Clint didn't even think she liked the color purple. Most of what she owned, reminisced typical Alfheimr colors. Silvers, greens, occasionally golden yellow. All of a sudden, there it was. Purple.

Hawkeye-purple, people liked to call it. Clint often smiled at that. The world at large never knew the reality of his survival. The few doctors who claimed to see him, were made to believe otherwise. Clint remained a legend to the population of Earth, meaning the objects he'd left behind at the archery range in New Jersey, were considered museum pieces. The ugly, purple cowl Tony once made him as a joke, had been found, framed, and hung on one of the walls. Somehow, that simple act rewrote everything about him. Officially, his favorite color was purple, and nothing could be done to convince anyone otherwise.

Alice knew better, but decided to display support for her father in a way the world would recognize. She had a strange, quiet way about her for the most part. Occasionally, the extrovert hiding within, reared its eccentric head, and she did something uncharacteristic, like buying a purple bag or talking to a store clerk. Both of which occurred during her shopping trip. Finding her Midgardian clothes for school, had its own challenges. Clint had yet to see what she'd ended up with.

Most of her young life, she'd been educated on Alfheimr under the private tutelage of two or three close friends, as most elves were. High school, according to Tony, Steve, Pepper, and everyone else in the known world, required the so called 'high school experience'.

Clint and Natasha didn't know much about that. Neither entertained that sort of young education, but Benjamin Stark, James Rogers, and Magni Foster (he'd taken his mother's name for enrollment, to prevent excess attention) were all heading to the same school. Each had endured their own education in their home realms, and only Ben had any experience with Earth schools. The younger Rogers kids, twins Tryggr and Fallon, might begin their education in the same school to keep the Avengers' offspring together.

"Will you actually talk to Ben today?" Clint asked, gently.

Alice considered it. ~"I did say steal,"~ she signed.

"I steal from Tony all the time. It happens. Be nice to the others, though, but don't let them shove you around. I'm sure your mother has tips on that."

~"Always does. Not my fault I'm the only girl."~

"Betty Ross' kids have been staying with Bruce for a while now, so her daughter might be there. Try to make friends. And don't stab anyone!"

She gave him a long look. Another thing she'd inherited from Natasha's side.

It took until she turned five before she began to say her first words. It wasn't an infantile sort of beginning, like one might have assumed. One day she wasn't talking, and then the next, she came right up to Tony and declared, "I think your hair looks awful funny under your chin. Why don't you ever shave it like my daddy?" Tony's jaw fell open, and he shot a look toward Clint. As of that moment on, she spoke and signed almost interchangeably. Half the time, she hardly realized when she did one or the other.

After her first few years of life, a pediatrician declared she had a mild form of autism and social disorder, presenting in selective mutism, all stemming from hypoxic-ischemia. Clint wasn't sure how much he cared for labels, and frankly, all that mattered was the results.

In the comfort of people she knew, Alice excelled. She had a fluency in Elven, English, Russian, and Italian that rivaled most modern day children, not to mention American Sign Language. Certain social situations, saw her clammed up tighter than two attached magnets. Other times caused Alice to fall into a role, like Natasha or Clint's spy team background, transforming her into someone else entirely. It was that second part of her personality that the general world might get a glimpse of day-to-day.

High school, on Earth, in New York, for the first time ever amongst peers her age, would be a challenge she might hate to conquer. For now, she appeared excited to go.

"Mom will drive you in, she's downstairs getting the car together with Pep. Benjamin should be down there already, unless Uncle Tony had to drag him out of bed. Class starts at eight. Class ends at four-thirty. I think Tony's planning to pick you up."

"Home room is in A131, second period's with Max. Dad, I got it." Alice leaned over the kitchen table. "Stop being a helicopter, dad."

Clint laughed, closing the distance to plant a kiss on her cheek. "You don't even know what a helicopter is."

~"I do too! Ben showed me a picture."~ Alice grabbed her leather lunch bag, grabbed a muhl fruit off the counter, and had just about headed up the hall when Clint called out to her.

"Leave the muhl! Earth kids don't have those."

Alice stopped in her tracks, sighed, and rolled the fruit onto a shelf with her hand. She continued forward without looking back.

Clint glanced over at Flint, who was stuffed around half of the kitchen. "Looks like it's just you and me, boy. Think we can convince Natasha to go look for the Time Stone for us? I think I might like to relive those years when we just talked about her leaving, and it never actually happened."

Flint grunted, lowering his head to his paws dejectedly.

Clint stacked his head on his palm. "Yeah. That's what I thought too."

:(:):(:):

Benjamin Stark slid over on his side of the car, allowing extra space for Alice to climb into the SUV beside him. He finished tapping something out on his cell phone, clicked it shut, and shoved the small stick it folded into down his pocket. He flipped a smile at her.

"Elf," he said.

"Francis," she said.

They exchanged squinting glares that lasted hardly a minute before the two began to laugh. Ben broke out first, causing Alice to lean over and poke him in the side, declaring her victory. From the third row, a silent Magni leaned forward and, swift as a cat, wrapped both of his arms around her chest. Alice shot up in her seat, though she never screamed.

James and Magni both appeared between the second row's headrests.

"Ah, cousin, how fairs thee this fine day?" Magni asked conversationally.

Alice spun around on him and glared. "Velu me ekanu melaha nu tuven!"

James' face squeezed together, eyes widening at the insult he perceived she shared. "Ooh, Max, she just called you out!"

"The sharpness of your elven tongue will do nothing to defeat Vigspar should I wield him in battle against your bow."

"Your hammer would rather me wield it, the way even Mjolnir bends to my father's will," Alice seethed.

James buried his laughing against his shoulder, while Magni changed to a brightened red then purple. Bested, for now, he retreated back to his seat and folded his arms across his chest. His elbow struck out, catching James in the side. The son of Steve folded over with an "oof".

The two front doors of the SUV pulled open. Natasha slid behind the driver's seat, and Pepper the passenger. The former Black Widow sent a sharp gaze through the rearview mirror at her daughter.

"I don't think your father approves of cursing in elvish. I don't care if it was him who taught you how to say it."

Alice turned around in her seat again, and fit on the safety belt. ~"Sorry."~

"That's OK. Max deserved it. Max, you better not have that hammer of yours in the back of this car. And if you do, any attempt to bring it to class with you, I will break your left leg." Natasha stuck the keys in the ignition, and the engine rumbled to life. She adjusted the mirror, allowing her piercing green eyes to laser through Thor's son.

"Uh . . . no, Aunt Tasha. I left it at home," Magni replied, dropping his Asgardian accent. Natasha knew full well he spent every weekend since birth, Earth-side, and a little extra in the winters and summer. He spoke English better than his mother did.

"Good. Jim, where are the twins?" The mirror flipped again, landing on James Rogers.

"Mom's still trying to convince dad to let them go through Asgardian war school instead of middle school. So far, mom's winning," Jim said.

Pepper turned around in her seat to look at him. "And did you boys not feel like Asgardian war school?"

"Hell no, that place freaks me out. Volstagg sent his son there, the guy is like eight feet tall and five hundred pounds. He should play for the Jets," Magni shouted.

Beside him, James rapidly shook his head side to side. His twin brother and sister were two years younger than himself. They'd been built specifically out of his mother's warrior spirit, and his father's upstanding patriotism. Tryggr and Fallon were smart enough to invade a continent, and strong enough to do it alone. James occasionally called them Orthrus, the two-headed, canine brother of Cerberus in Greek mythology.

"OK, so maybe tomorrow they'll be along. Ben, do you have everything?" Pepper asked.

Ben sighed, rolling his eyes. He extracted a hard-cased wallet from his pocket. "I digitalized all of my notes for the next year, and coordinated them by date, home room, and teacher. I didn't feel like being a backpack guy," He threw a superior gaze around his fellows. "so I used a few Pym particles to shrink the essentials. They'll reanimate after I find my locker assignment. It's not a big deal."

Alice kicked his shin with the point of her shoe, and Ben shot up in his seat, clutching the offended limb.

"Try being condescending again, and I will kick you in the ribs," she whispered.

He closed the space between them. "Hey, maybe I didn't want anyone finding out that I bought a bright purple backpack."

"It was Hawkeye's colors, and I'm sewing my dad's crest on it. I bet you got fire-engine red and gold," she shot back.

"No, I got black and metallic Si blue, because that's what my Storm Guard suit will be."

"When it's done?"

"It's almost done."

Satisfied, they retreated to their separate sides of the car. Natasha watched their exchange, smiling inwardly. Clint and Tony did it all right. They made two near-replicas of themselves. Arguing little hellcats that were thicker than thieves.

No one could have anticipated the rest of the Avengers' clan coming together in a second generation of future super-heroes in the making. Jamming the car into gear, Natasha pulled forward out of the parking space, and gunned it through the underground lot. They blew through the stop gate, screamed through an intersection, and shot off down the back alley of Stark Tower. The kids in the back hollered in terror and excitement at her driving antics while, apparently used to it, Pepper merely grabbed hold of the dash board with both hands and closed her eyes, head firmly tucked between her knees.

"All right, kids, you're starting high school, so listen up," Natasha debriefed them like a military invasion, weaving the SUV in and out of city traffic at impossible speeds. She could feel Ben's knees climbing the back of her seat, using it as a bracing point to keep himself from rocking back and forth all over the middle row.

"Day one, so I've heard, is the most important. Don't stand out like a bunch of buffoons, and the first person who gets involved in a class prank is going to hear it from me." The wheel spun rapidly to the left, the tires screaming as they drifted around a corner and blasted off in a new direction. "And if you don't think we have no idea what you are doing day-to-day, then I have a big surprise for you. So don't be stupid, do your school work, do not get pregnant or get girls pregnant. This school was designed specifically because of the boom people had after the Galactus war. Suddenly, all Earth's heroes drifted back home and every powered person who claimed a role fighting Heralds, ended up with babies. Think of it like the Xavier Institute, just with more radioactive spiders. This will last for four years of your life, unless you screw it up. Don't screw it up."

She made another hairpin turn, cutting off a city bus, two taxis, and squeezed between a guard rail and dump truck.

"Someone has a problem with you, it's their problem, not yours. You have not been granted leave to be Avengers, so don't act like you are. That means weapons stay at home. People know who you are already, but guess what? Just because you're the son of Thor, does not mean you get to pick on Peter Parker's kid."

Natasha jumped the curb, spun the SUV into a full 360 degrees, and perfectly landed them in a parallel parking spot twelve inches away from Bruce Banner. He wore a pair of pleated, grey suit pants, and stood with his hands relaxed in their pockets. A cream white button down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, covered his chest. A grey vest went over the shirt, its front a relatively plain type of pinstripe, while the back displayed an intricate silk black-on-black pattern.

For the first time, Natasha turned and faced the four of them. "The most important thing: Bruce Banner is your principal. You screw up, he doesn't even have to tell us. He has full reign to deal with you himself. And trust me, he is looking forward to it."

Four pairs of eyes darted toward the doctor and former Princeton Professor. When exactly he transformed from their kindly, childless uncle, to the utter terrifying force standing before them now, no one could answer precisely. But there it was, nonetheless.

"Yes, ma'am," James said, sounding remarkably like his father. The SUV doors popped open, and everyone piled out. Bruce ruffled the kids' hair as they scurried by, but remained on the sidewalk to see Pepper and Natasha. Together, the three watched them walk inside.

It was a sight to behold. Alice, purple bag tucked tight up on her shoulder. Magni, his elbow resting on her backpack strap and laughing at something James said. James was walking backwards, wearing two massive headphones and a t-shirt displaying the Captain America shield. Ben looked positively bored already, despite his attempts at kicking the back of Alice's shoes to make her leg go flying forward.

Instantly upon contact, the girl spun on him, and the chase was on. Ben rushed up the school steps, Alice hot on his heels. Magni passed her a pen from his bag, and the tool sailed through the air, ricocheted off a water fountain, a basketball, then landed right in front of Ben's foot. The kid hit it mid run, lost his balance, fell forward, and James caught the back of his shirt before the Stark son smashed his face off the concrete. Already standing in the doorway, were Betty Ross' twins, Hiro and Kally. They watched the goings on, and laughed.

"I think we just made a big mistake," Natasha said, folding her arms.

"They'll be fine...If they know what's good for them," Pepper said, unconcerned.

"That's the thing, I don't think they quite get what we will do to them if they screw up."

Bruce snickered. "Hey, look at it this way. They are all officially my problem, everyday, 8-4:30. Besides, Sam Wilson's kids are coming here now, after you all picked this school. Then there's Parker signed on for homeroom teaching, the ant-kid is attending, and that's not even touching mine."

Pepper looked surprised. "Does this mean you and Betty made it official? You're adopting her kids?"

"The Avengers' household has two more members." Bruce cast a gentle look in the direction of the two. "It's been hard since their father died. I'm not replacing him, but I've been in their lives for so long now, I hope they don't see me as a threat. I guess this means I should tell them about that whole turning green thing."

Pepper leaned against him, pushing playfully. "I'm sure they've figured that out already. I'm really happy for you, Bruce. They're great kids. Hopefully the other four aren't going to irritate them too much."

Bruce shook his head, heading for the courtyard of the school. "They shouldn't, especially since Kally knows more about astrophysics than Ben does. That always gets his approval. I'll go in and get the announcements started. After all, it's my first day too."

First day, Natasha thought, watching him head inside. It was a first day for a lot of things. Sure, she worried about how the next generation was going to handle a new school, new dynamics, and Earth educational systems. Alice had done so well under her private tutors, that setting her loose in a larger environment was sure to come with its own set of challenges. But she had her friends, her support, and everything they could have asked for. Kind of like when Clint first walked into the Avengers' lifestyle. She was already getting a better start than either of her parents had.

Times were changing again, this time for the better. Having these little connections to the homes they knew, only helped them in the end. It saved them from forgetting the people they were, the friends they had, even in the distant places of the Nine Realms where memories were usually stripped away like fallen leaves. Their kids kept them together, the memories alive, and friendships long lasting.

This was day one all over again, the beginning of a new chapter in their lives and, what would be, the most exciting chapter yet.

The End.

* * *

(The "After Credits" Scene...")

Tony's head peeked into the kitchen, swiveling from left to right as if at any moment he might come across someone. Like a child caught in the act, Pepper had a way of interrupting his schemes at the very moment he hoped she would not, upsetting whatever preconceived notions he might form. This day, he took added precautions. He knew she was gone, off to drive the kids to school despite the fact that Natasha could very well handle them. It took remarkably little convincing to see it accomplished and, now that he was alone, the time came to work again.

He crossed the living room with the suit draped over his shoulder. He eased up to the carved doorway that sealed the Alfheimr portal away from mortal eyes, and knocked twice on the frame. A corresponding knock arrived and he pulled the door open and slipped inside.

Clint stood waiting for him, his arms folded over his chest. "Anyone see you?" he demanded instantly.

Tony shook his head, pushing away the curious nose of Flint who'd began huffing over the suit fabric he held. "No. The girls are still out. We've got to do this quick though."

Clint nodded, stripping off his shirt. "You think it'll actually work?"

"I could make it in purple if you want."

"Not aesthetically work, Tony," Clint complained. He pulled the belt free from his pants, gauging just how much he might be required to strip.

"All of it," Tony encouraged. "We need a skin tight seal over where the wounds were."

Clint complied, dropping his trousers.

Tony handed the new suit to him, then pressed his face back through the portal into the Tower living room. Still no sign of the others. The way Natasha drove, there wasn't much to keep them tied up for long. He turned around again to hurry Clint along, but there was no need. Clint had already managed to slip the suit in place.

Stark cocked up a corner of his eyebrow, rather pleased at his own design. "Wow. You look like something out of a samurai movie."

* * *

*drop the mic*

yup. totally just did an "after credits" on you. That happened. written form. now go do some googling about what this could mean and literally let your mind go wild.

In the mean time, I want to take this opportunity at the end of this 60+ chapter monstrosity to thank you, all of you, who have been so instrumental in making this Hawkeye Initiative series so worth while. Without your constant support, reading, following, reviews, favorites, alerts, and all those things you do every day to reach out and show support I could not be in the position that I am. I began Lithium Hawkeye on a whim after Avengers in 2012, and Look how far this world has come. Our boys have suffered a lot at my hands, but it is all in love and devotion to who they are as characters. I Love writing them. Every single moment i type is an adventure into their stories like no other. How I can continue to connect their lives like this, I can't even understand fully. But I am so very glad you have enjoyed it.

_I want to take a quick moment, if you will allow, to thank two very special people who have made this journey possible:_

_icanhearthedrums: You have been with me on countless stories. You are only a simple message away whenever inspiration strikes, when I'm lost, stuck, or trapped in a corner. you reign me in and let me loose. you fill my heart with amazement every moment and have been more supportive than I will ever deserve. The very name of this crowning achievement I have derived from your penname, for you. You have inspired this work in its entirety. Thank you, for your friendship, devotion, and editing prowess. _

_JRBarton: My Luna, Many may not know but Nova Luna was name in honor of you and all the endless, toiling, unpaid hours you have packed into keeping me set on the proper grammatical path. The hard work you have put in is immense, incalculable, and appreciated beyond reason. Again, I do not feel I deserve such loyalty as you have shown me. When i need a helping hand, you are there. When I have rambled on insensibly, you have pulled me from the brink, when it seems nothing will be accomplished, you force my inspiration. the entire scene of Clint's awakening to his memories was only inspired by your own suggestion to make things better, bigger, than I had ever planned. Thank you for everything you have done, and continue to do._

_And a special shout out to:_

_Elise Willis. Friend, confidant, and midnight reader. Your reviews, your support, and your endless enthusiasm have brought tears to my eyes. Thank you for your overjoyed assistance on the things to come. I will remember you always as one of the kindest of souls, soon to be immortalized forever._

* * *

So now what? Well, check my author page first for stories in the works.

And...

surprise...

The Hawkeye Initiative will be RETURNING soon with the NEXT installment of this hugely epic series, where we dive a little deeper into this amazing Epilogue world! Stay tuned, stay faithful, and review my friends! Thank you!


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